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155 or forgive me willie

окт. 5, 2009 | 12:25 pm

shall i remain indifferent, my dear,
when happiness hath overfilled my chest?
and shall i look impassive, when the beer
thee hath so kindly ordered is the fucking best
i've ever tasted? shall i still be cold
when thee hath called me in the dead of night
to say a truly unimportant thing? would it not be odd
if i just got involved, would it be right?
oh how i wish that thee had never said
thee liked the inexpressiveness i seemed
to, funnily, express; then, i believe, my head
would be with nothing whatsoever teemed!

oh damn it all; the silly awkwardness of mine
is only doubled by the majesty of thine.

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none of these roads's ever gonna lead me to your home

сент. 14, 2009 | 12:46 am

yes, i do admit it's nice to be alone here in the kitchen just at the moment, so that i can turn on the music as loud as i like and smoke inside and have coffee at night, and nobody says a thing. it's just that... i know you wouldn't say a thing if you were here, nothing concerning the music or the smoking or the coffee at the dead of night, or maybe there would be no coffee, no music playing and i wouldn't be smoking. it's just that whatever i do, even - oh, should i say especially - if i do whatever i want, it doesn't feel right. i know it could and sometimes it feels i'm getting somewhat closer, but it's always something else, something misleading, it's always gone in the blink of an eye. and i'm not even able to put it right, to say it so that anybody would understand, at least me myself, and i know if you were here you would actually make it clear and whatever you say would be put right, and this, along with lots and lots of other reasons, is why it is such a pity you do not seem to exist.

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авг. 22, 2009 | 02:31 am

i don't know what the bloody hell went wrong, but at some point i just started to sometimes feel it's all way too good for me. like - the world is much more beautiful than i can take. keeps overwhelming me more and more often, and i don't know, this must be unhealthy. the music has got so beautiful it's intimidating, so beautiful i can't listen to it without wanting to disappear because i'm probably not good enough, and i've no idea who is and what i've got to do to become someone who is, it just makes me want to go jump off a roof or start working as a salesperson or something. look at me, i'm a dobby, the job of a salesperson is my nightmare, the worst i can think of, and ta-da, i've come to think about taking it on! as a punishment, just because i'm not good enough for the music. i'm also not good enough for the films, watched 'about a boy' and 'music and lyrics' yesterday and i thought i'd cry because they were so good and i realised i didn't like art house, i realised i'd like all films to be like 'love actually' or 'last chance harvey' because they're so unpretentious and it's the best damn thing a film can be and why are people still doing these 'real time' films and things, i just don't get it. films are like music and it's all so connected, i don't think i'll ever get back to radiohead and i don't think i 'll ever rewatch 'the dreamers' - i quite like both but i'm over them, i guess i really am a benjamin button because now i want to watch 'about a boy' until i know every line by heart and listen to keane, it's like i don't grow up i grow down, now i want something unpretentious and simple, i don't want any context or complicatedness or sophisticatedness i want reality, i want life as it is, sad and cruel and unfortunate but eventually alright, eventually you're fine because you've got something to remember and to smile to, and you're not dead and you walk all the way to work just because the sun's shining, just because you want to, and you're late but no one's angry
and i guess it's the same with people, pretentious is the worst they can be, and perhaps dismissive as well, and i'm probably saying this because i'm so very often both and i hate it, but i sometimes think it's no so often now as it used to be and i so hope i'm right, and i think i am for now i would just get the bike out of the flat and ride it, and turn coldplay on, and it feels so right and so simple, like the wind or the stars or water, i've no idea where i'm going but damn, i don't give a crap, i don't have to have an aim anymore, and i doubt it makes any sense but believe me it's brilliant news, and my bike's got the word 'simple' written over it because the model's called so and it's green, and i guess i've picked the right one, oh i definitely have, and what is it, can anybody tell me what it is, is freedom, joy, happiness? do i even want to know this? sometimes it feels like i don't want to know anything and i want to forget all i've ever known and be a forrest gump because he's the most unpretentious person i've ever seen, sometimes it feels like i indeed am a forrest gump and it makes me happy but is over shortly
may i please be him forever

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and when i find a place to rest i'll hold your head upon my chest

авг. 16, 2009 | 10:17 pm

so i was thinking, i must be getting calmer and calmer as years go by
this is positively weird, for normal is just the opposite, but i'd oh so much like to believe it's true because it makes life so much easier
a few years ago i was a complete hugh laurie, feeling sorry for saying a thing, for just being there, for having been born at all
now, well, i'm still feeling sorry as i talk (it's hard to explain, but must be because as i start speaking i suddenly realise i'm talking nonsense or something no one wants to hear about or, well, maybe no one just wants to hear about anything from me), and i still regret being where i am most of the time, but at least i'm done with the sorry i've ever been born. this might sound silly, but it's actually quite serious; if you're sorry you exist, you can't but blame your parents, it does seem perfectly logical to you, you don't think of a possibility that they wanted something nice to be born, not you; you don't think they had no idea what their child would be like, you just enjoy the fact there's somebody to blame other than you. and blaming your parents, well, is not the best conceivable pastime for a teenager, not the most fruitful one, anyway. however, if family problems can be considered fruit... well, what i'm saying is: it's nice finally not to feel sorry you exist.
and i'd like to believe i'm a benjamin button in a way, getting less and less nervous each year, having less and less enthusiasm to explode something, preferably myself. maybe, probably it's got something to do with music, god only knows what a part it plays in my life, and if i'd heard cherry ghost a year ago, i probably wouldn't have understood, and now i do, and i guess it means i'm ready, no idea for what, ready to be alright - maybe that, maybe ready to be well even
but as i was writing this i thought this must be all wrong, the fact that i'm analysing it and writing it down must mean it's all so wrong, it must mean the problems are only getting bigger, i've never tried to analyse this before
damn it
but cherry ghost are so even and so simple and so good and i am so lost
if i were to choose what to be, i'd become the 'e' in 'chest' in the forth line of 'false alarm'
seriously, i would
it's so stupid i know
i'm so sorry

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июл. 8, 2009 | 12:36 am

were in not for all these songs, where would i be, i sometimes ask myself. the beautiful thing about music is that it's not demanding - but i'm not talking about Pink Floyd of course, i'm talking about the music i like. i like it how you don't have to possess any special talents to be able to listen to music, i like it how i can listen to it just as well as you, how it wants nothing back, nothing at all. i don't like music to be clever. i don't like it to be silly either, i like it to be neutral; i don't like it when a song is a story just as i don't like it when a poem is a story; to me, prose is for stories, poetry and songs are for... other things. there are exceptions though, like, say, Viva La Vida by Coldplay. i like songs to be in English or in a language i don't understand, a rare one. Russian, German, Spanish etc seem absolutely unsuitable somehow. i like songs to be simple, i like them most of all to be unpretentious, i like them to be quiet, i like them to have pianos and guitars in them, and violins, i like them to start and especially end beautifully, i like songs to fit, to suit, to match me; damn, i like them to be nice.
i kind of believe myself to be a movie. in fact, i believe us all to be movies, and i felt this distinctly as i was going home after a big concert along with a huge crowd of people. i just thought, hell, you get a life, meaning, you're born and you are who you are and you have to live with it, it's like when you turn on the tv in the evening and there's a movie, and you can watch it till the end or switch the tv off at once, it is all your choice; people and their lives, like movies, can be interesting or unbearably dull and boring; and i was thinking, well, i'm not going to get an oscar, but i'm not all boring altogether, i would watch myself till the end if i had nothing to do
and that's good
my today's movie would end either with The Fray's 'Never Say Never', or, even more likely, with Alexi Murdoch's 'All My Days'
and that's good, too.

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июн. 5, 2009 | 03:43 pm

now that i've screwed up my first exam, i've been making up excuses for myself, which is actually not so bad after all ('you're a blundering idiot' would be an excuse fair enough, and would probably give me motivation, too), the problem is, the excuses i make are kind of... cheap. what i've been telling myself are things that are neither useful nor true, things like 'at least i am good-looking' and 'nice guys finish last', and... well, you get the idea. the problem is, pedagogical tricks do not really work with me. i wish they would, i really really really do, but hell, they don't. instead of getting angry and pissed off and working hard to succeed at the next exam, i am sitting at this cafe, smoking a cigarette lazily and making up irrelevant excuses. ans even that would be okay, if only there was something else, something i would be very, very good at, something i could be proud of, something that could, you know, compensate, make other things unimportant, make me go 'who cares about this pedagogy anyway' not in a trying-to-make-myself-believe-it kind of way but in a just-stating-the-truth kind of way.
all i want is to be worthwhile, or do something that is worthwhile
i'm no longer sure i'm in the right place after all, man
i'm no longer sure there is a right place

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апр. 24, 2009 | 10:33 pm

alrighty guys.
i haven't been home for three months, and now that i'm here i'm not sure i feel at home. this whole business has been freaking me out lately to be frank with you, for i have no idea what kind of feelings i have. i mean, i know i DO feel something, but hell i can't identify it, i have no idea what it is, i don't even know if it has a name. it worries me every time, it raises lots of questions i can't answer, is it normal, does anyone else feel this, what do you do when you feel this and so forth. and now that i'm home i just don't know, everything seems to be so small and short, meaning height, buildings are particularly short, unbearably short i would say, and i know it's home - but is it home? and if it isn't, what is? do i have a home at all? i don't know. god it all turnes out to be so complicated because there seems to be a question generator inside me, but the answer generator is not there, and i have to suffer from its absence all the time. and it is such a pity we only live once and can't try out lots of things so as to know which one is best for us, it's an enormous pity the life we end up having is just a bunch of accidental things that happened to us, it's a pity we can't see the way our life would turn out if we, say, went to study filmmaking in Warsaw instead of going to this MSLU in Minsk. this is all so frustrating i'm surprised mankind has made it through all these years! look - we're unable to build our life according to the experience because we have no experience. and yet, we have survived somehow.
besides, most of my friends seem to have turned twenty during the last few months which scares the hell out of me.
thoughtstream finished, thank you.

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апр. 12, 2009 | 02:54 pm

ночь, никого нет вокруг, возле оперного театра маленький ребенок стоит, обняв ногу памятника Максиму Багдановичу
ребенок совсем один, стоит неподвижно и молча
я подхожу к нему и говорю: "привет"
"привет", отвечает; у него очень спокойное лицо
я совершенно не знаю, что делать, поэтому ухожу
я не помню точно, но, кажется, я никогда не читала ничего из Богдановича
или Танка, или Купалы, или Коласа, Быкова, кто там еще
за весь школьный цикл белорусской литературы я прочитала только какую-то повесть про войну
я даже не помню, как она называлась
как это жалко
почему я понимаю все только сейчас
мне стыдно перед своей страной
и мне жалко свою страну, я понимаю это, когда стою с флагом в руках и в огромной оранжевой майке во время последней песни на концерте для олимпиадников
какой у нас уродливый флаг, и какие дурацкие эти оранжевые майки, которые, наверно, даже светятся в темноте
как мне жалко того, кто придумал сделать их оранжевыми
бедный человек, мне кажется, он ничего не понимает, не понимает даже, что ничего не понимает
как это неправильно - уехать, оставить эту страну в руках людей, которые делают ярко-оранжевые майки; что с ней будет тогда
боже мой, я не могу, меня переполняет что-то
какая-то беспомощность

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мар. 22, 2009 | 10:31 pm

в общем, я была в британском посольстве, и у меня смешанные чувства
я не выиграла конкурс, но несильно расстроилась, потому что в целом там были чуваки и покруче меня; дело не в этом. дело в том, что в посольстве как-то нереально, по-особенному хорошо, и мне захотелось остаться там жить
нет, серьезно
мне кажется, посол там и живет
еще у посла есть два больших кота, и они присутствовали на конкурсе, представляете, два кота
на конкурсе
я вышла из посольства и позвонила репетитору, потому что мне нужно было кому-то рассказать. с репетитором мы поговорили очень хорошо, но, кроме прочего, репетитор сказал мне, "поймите, британцы вас не любят"
я думала об этом весь день
британцы и правда меня не любят
они меня не ненавидят, конечно, но относятся ко мне с подозрением
как это ужасно, и ничего не сделаешь
на днях к нам в гости приходил турок, Ритин друг; я теперь думаю, британцы относятся ко мне так, как я к туркам
когда Рита сказала, что придет турок, я мысленно закатила глаза, если честно - турок! потом он пришел, и когда мы уже допивали вино на кухне, и я почувствовала, что у меня идет кровь из носа и потянулась за салфеткой, когда турок воскликнул: "нет!", я удивленно на него посмотрела, он сказал: "у тебя такое белое лицо и такая красная кровь, очень красиво. не вытирай, пожалуйста", и он рассказал, как он сдавал кровь, чтобы приехать сюда, и какая эта кровь была черная
бедный человек, у него черная кровь
он так грустно об этом говорил
мы заварили чай и сидели за столом, кровь из моего носа капала в мою кружку - и как это было по-идиотски и хорошо

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дек. 27, 2008 | 03:43 pm

ну, не знаю
(многообещающее начало)
все хорошо - сижу со своими девочками, пью кофе, в котором одно молоко
это хорошо - я люблю молоко больше, чем кофе
мне хочется говорить that, и не только that, проглатывая последнюю t; но мне говорят: взрыв!
и правда, взрыв
когда возвращаюсь домой поздно, свет почти всегда горит только в одном окне, из которого непременно торчит кот
в буквальном смысле - как будто сейчас упадет
мне кажется, это хороший знак; если кота не торчит, я расстраиваюсь
наверно, мне плохо без кота, хоть он и всегда меня ненавидел
что же это за время такое - даже кукс, даже вечно веселые кукс поют грустные песни
объявили в университете выговор за пропуски
что такое
посмотрите хоть картинки, что ли


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