All entries for February 2005
February 25, 2005
Мое сердце без тебя
My heart without you
Словно дикая птица без неба
Like a wild bird without the sky
Без тебя моя душа
Without you my soul
Словно слабая лань без леса
Like a vulnerable doe without forest
Без тебя мои глаза
Without you my eyes
Как налиты груди без чада
Like full breasts without a child
Без тебя моя слеза
Without you my tears
Как роса без утра падает
Fall like dew without morning
I have déjà-vu's about as frequently as I have periods. Pardon the vulgar comparison, but my déjà-vu's haunt me about every month. I used to brain-storm events in my life that could in any way resemble the illusion I just had. Failing miserably to make sense of déjà-vu's, I quit that method and started believing in supernatural. However, it's not a reason to ridicule my theory. Just yet.
I believe that people who have a brand new life do not have déjà-vu's and do not wear glasses. Those who do have simply returned from their previous lives to either finish the unfinished or correct the mistakes. Visual disability is a physical expression of the mental state. If one can not see clearly then, according to this theory, one is perceiving the world in a distorted way and refuses (mentally or subconsciously) to see the reality. Déjà-vu's are there to remind the people that they have done exactly the same things in their previous lives and ended up in the exactly same situations with the same people and will see the same outcome if they don't change something about it. And since they've returned from their previous lives, going down the spiral is a rather undesirable option.
So there we go. That's how I make sense of my déjà-vu's.
February 23, 2005
Всегда добивайся своего. И не своего тоже.
February 22, 2005
February 21, 2005
Maybe Malevich was a writer. Or he wanted to become one. He scribbled something on a piece of paper. Reread it and found it boring/shallow/too ordinary. So he then crosses the words out in a bursting furry, with anger and annoyance, but realizes the words can still be seen. So he takes out a brush from his kids' painting kit and paints it black. Over and over again. And again. And once again. When he finally stopped he saw a masterpiece – his Black Square. That's how he became a painter. From failing as a writer. Maybe?
February 18, 2005
To: Alex with love
He said he wants to put me in a box. So that I don't wander to places and get hurt.
He said he'd get me out of the box, snuggle, feed me and then put me back in the box.
He said he'd even poke some holes, holes in the box.
But I thought I'll die if he really puts me in a box.
February 17, 2005
A friend kindly recommended to me Playboy's online catalogue of the top 50 cover pictures of the century. And from the whole bunch of naked bodies I chose this one. It's not vulgar, not slutty, not even erotic. It's pretty. She's got pretty eyes. It's the instance that it depicts that counts, not the naked breast and the wetness of her hair. If she removed her hand from her face it would be a totally different person with a completely different story to it. But as it is now – it's pretty.
February 16, 2005
There is a sock under the table in the Computer Centre, room 034.
Maybe someone kicked the sock off trying to find inspiration for his essay.
Maybe someone had passionate sex and forgot about the lonely sock.
Maybe someone was besocked by someone else!
But the sock stays there, under the table. It's black and it has white knitting on it.