Longing
Spiderman
Rug
Love
Society
Huge
Lunch
Good smell
Deception
Choice
Dawn
Long
Sad look
Death
Church
Midnight
Hospital
Room
I felt longing when I sit on my rug. Spiderman was looking particularily happy, though of course, I couldn't see his face - it's covered with mask, you know - but he did feel so happy and filled with love, which is understandable, he is a huge hero of the society he protects. Anyway it was time for lunch and I caught whiff of very good smell, my sister, she really knows how to cook.
You know, she also looks like someone very happy and full of love, but that's a nasty deception. She is a big meanie. And I mean, everyone can be a meanie, but it is always her choice. She would spend long hours of dawn waylaying young men with their sad look and puppy eyes. Then she just breaks up with them, and I bet each of them just dies... you know full death experience, proper church burial and all...
But one midnight she just fell on the floor, noone could help her, we called 911, whisked off to the hospital. I managed to visit her once in her room and she finally didn't look happy. I was so happy for her, she could be real for once...
And now I miss her... sitting on a rug, watching Spidey smile at me...
Saturday, April 7, 2018
Friday, April 6, 2018
R84
I woke up from a nightmare with kick and shout. Hugged the pillow tight despite acrid stench of sweating it over the night. I stirred under the heavy cover. Morning was peeking in through the window, but I couldn't tell the time. I hoped that I will have some time to lazy about, but then my spine tingled with discomfort.
I moved in my bed and looked at Lela at the door. She was bringing two cups of coffee and a smile. Tingling subsided leaving only itch.
"I told you not to stay up late", she giggled as she passed my cup to me.
"Hail alien" I scoffed.
"You are really looking for trouble, are you?" she smiled and slurped the sip, whacking my knee playfully. "Down that coffe, then off to wash your theet, else you get another zap!"
I moved in my bed and looked at Lela at the door. She was bringing two cups of coffee and a smile. Tingling subsided leaving only itch.
"I told you not to stay up late", she giggled as she passed my cup to me.
"Hail alien" I scoffed.
"You are really looking for trouble, are you?" she smiled and slurped the sip, whacking my knee playfully. "Down that coffe, then off to wash your theet, else you get another zap!"
Thursday, April 5, 2018
R83
I wanted to start with: Oh, how wonderful the dream was, but it's too much like pop-song or something equally slimey.
Thing is, it was a wonderful dream indeed! It eludes me, I can't grasp the dramaturgy. I just have flashes remaining.
There were gods and paralell universes, meditations and emerging from the water, big revelation that worlds can be traveled even without the reflection in the surfrace of water. There were gossips and intrigues and secret meetings, as well as pool parties and cocktails.
Oh, there were godesses, too. Long legged, totting firm juicy busts, there was playful splashing, laughter and debauchery that never spills into the tasteless.
Someone would say, too bad that this wonderful dream eluded me, becuase there was even a hint of a novel in there, but too much like Gayman's work, which is NOT a good thing if you ask me. So all in all, this dream is like observing the table after the feast, and those sights always bring fond memories.
Thing is, it was a wonderful dream indeed! It eludes me, I can't grasp the dramaturgy. I just have flashes remaining.
There were gods and paralell universes, meditations and emerging from the water, big revelation that worlds can be traveled even without the reflection in the surfrace of water. There were gossips and intrigues and secret meetings, as well as pool parties and cocktails.
Oh, there were godesses, too. Long legged, totting firm juicy busts, there was playful splashing, laughter and debauchery that never spills into the tasteless.
Someone would say, too bad that this wonderful dream eluded me, becuase there was even a hint of a novel in there, but too much like Gayman's work, which is NOT a good thing if you ask me. So all in all, this dream is like observing the table after the feast, and those sights always bring fond memories.
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
R82
If he knew that it would come to this, Rustam would never ever start writing. When his sandwich bled curry spiced ketchup on his brand new shoes, inspiration struck Rustam so hard, he had to call the boss and get a day off. Rushed home and after making sure that his Italian, leather beauties will survive without permanent damage, Rustam opened his laptop.
His whole life he thought that writing is something sublime, beyond grasp of ordinary accountant like himself. It turned out it's easy-peasy. Whiteness of the screen he filled with so much symbols, so easily as if he was pouring himself wine. He didn't pause to read or correct typos that were result of his nearly hysterical tempo of typing.
Story was pale at first. Then claws, legs, feathers, bust, thin arms and wide wings that barely fit the only room of Rustam's tiny flat. Finally she nodded at him with her catlike head and showed him her hungry teeth which drooled saliva. And Rustam kept feeding her, writing line after line.
He didn't catch the exact moment of change. He would even completely miss the smudge if it didn't appear covering letter F , where starting point for left hand's fingers was on the keyboard. Under fingertips he felt something moist and thick, like curry spiced ketchup. He lifted his head just in time to duck. Story missed her clawed blow aimed at writer's temple. Rustam dived under the desk, and feathered monstrosity jumped at his desk, slamming the laptop shut.
Writer crawled, scurrying to the coat crumpled on the bed, manically seeking his phone. Story perched on the table, licking her lips. If I could only remember the phone number of Literary Police, thought Rustam.
His whole life he thought that writing is something sublime, beyond grasp of ordinary accountant like himself. It turned out it's easy-peasy. Whiteness of the screen he filled with so much symbols, so easily as if he was pouring himself wine. He didn't pause to read or correct typos that were result of his nearly hysterical tempo of typing.
Story was pale at first. Then claws, legs, feathers, bust, thin arms and wide wings that barely fit the only room of Rustam's tiny flat. Finally she nodded at him with her catlike head and showed him her hungry teeth which drooled saliva. And Rustam kept feeding her, writing line after line.
He didn't catch the exact moment of change. He would even completely miss the smudge if it didn't appear covering letter F , where starting point for left hand's fingers was on the keyboard. Under fingertips he felt something moist and thick, like curry spiced ketchup. He lifted his head just in time to duck. Story missed her clawed blow aimed at writer's temple. Rustam dived under the desk, and feathered monstrosity jumped at his desk, slamming the laptop shut.
Writer crawled, scurrying to the coat crumpled on the bed, manically seeking his phone. Story perched on the table, licking her lips. If I could only remember the phone number of Literary Police, thought Rustam.
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
R81
Ian Pilsudski dragged passionately the last smoke and tossed the stub out of the car window. His projectile missed the street trashcan. He tapped twice against the car door and whistled. Skinny blonde guy at the wheel nodded sharply, grinned and gunned the throttle. Moment later there was purple and yellow rotation lights and wailing sound of the siren. Literary Police was in pursuit.
"Car 451 to the Central", mumbled Pilsudski at the radio.
"Central to car 451, come in", hissed the Central.
"We report for 261 at corner of Kemish and Augustine', almost screamed Pilsudski to stay louder than siren noise.
"Central to car 451, crime in progress is 594 not 261, please confirm", screeched the Central.
Pilsudski dropped the mic and snorted with laughter. Driver joined in too, hitting the wheel a few times.
"Lazarus, can you believe these bozos?"
"Yea, boss, I'm with you, boss", chuckled the driver, overtaking a few car and running through the junction.
"Some berk is about to finish the novel and they are going soft on me!"
Ian was again on the mic.
"There better be some backup when we fly in, over!" barked the big headed detective and continued to mumble to himself "...mother.... fuck... as if we don't have enough trouble with runaway stories, neglected novelettes and wild essays, now they started writing novels, for fuck sake..."
Detective grasped the handle above the window, as Lazarus turned sharply to left and with meaowing of tires, they entered the Kemish avenue.
"Shit, my shotgun is thirsty", Pilsudski thought to himself as he reached for the weapon tucked in the holster just under his car seat.
"Car 451 to the Central", mumbled Pilsudski at the radio.
"Central to car 451, come in", hissed the Central.
"We report for 261 at corner of Kemish and Augustine', almost screamed Pilsudski to stay louder than siren noise.
"Central to car 451, crime in progress is 594 not 261, please confirm", screeched the Central.
Pilsudski dropped the mic and snorted with laughter. Driver joined in too, hitting the wheel a few times.
"Lazarus, can you believe these bozos?"
"Yea, boss, I'm with you, boss", chuckled the driver, overtaking a few car and running through the junction.
"Some berk is about to finish the novel and they are going soft on me!"
Ian was again on the mic.
"There better be some backup when we fly in, over!" barked the big headed detective and continued to mumble to himself "...mother.... fuck... as if we don't have enough trouble with runaway stories, neglected novelettes and wild essays, now they started writing novels, for fuck sake..."
Detective grasped the handle above the window, as Lazarus turned sharply to left and with meaowing of tires, they entered the Kemish avenue.
"Shit, my shotgun is thirsty", Pilsudski thought to himself as he reached for the weapon tucked in the holster just under his car seat.
R80
In the city, building are flourishing,
We see them when they die.
And that's it.
Death is hidden, otherwise.
In the countryside, everything is flourishing.
And dies, too.
That's why in the morning, we first count each other.
Almost as if it doesn't matter who died and why.
They simply roll you a few times in their hands.
Then they fetch the spade.
Put you on the bottom of the hole and cover with sand.
Countryside death is not less painful, just because there is so much of it visible.
But whoever dies, gets at least a few farewell tears.
We see them when they die.
And that's it.
Death is hidden, otherwise.
In the countryside, everything is flourishing.
And dies, too.
That's why in the morning, we first count each other.
Almost as if it doesn't matter who died and why.
They simply roll you a few times in their hands.
Then they fetch the spade.
Put you on the bottom of the hole and cover with sand.
Countryside death is not less painful, just because there is so much of it visible.
But whoever dies, gets at least a few farewell tears.
R79
I love almonds. I don't nibble on them. I don't even chew them. I crush them like that machine which gobbles up a rock and then poops gravel.
As soon as I get up, before breakfast, I eat at least handful of almonds. Then by lunchtime I destroy at least half a cup. Afterwards, I fry some and use them to spice up my lunch. No nap time after lunch for me, so while I wait for the meal to digest, I crush another handful or two.
When in the late afternoon my sugar levels drop, I remedy it by drinking almond milk. It's thick and sweet. In fact it's not sweet at all, but that's my impression. It's as if it could easily be very sweet.
Before almonds, I had huge problems with my tummy and digestion. Food was simply sticking with me, while my poop was runny. But since I am eating almonds, my poop is like gravel, too. I don't want to go into details there, but it's obvious that almond saved my ass.
Thank you, almond!
As soon as I get up, before breakfast, I eat at least handful of almonds. Then by lunchtime I destroy at least half a cup. Afterwards, I fry some and use them to spice up my lunch. No nap time after lunch for me, so while I wait for the meal to digest, I crush another handful or two.
When in the late afternoon my sugar levels drop, I remedy it by drinking almond milk. It's thick and sweet. In fact it's not sweet at all, but that's my impression. It's as if it could easily be very sweet.
Before almonds, I had huge problems with my tummy and digestion. Food was simply sticking with me, while my poop was runny. But since I am eating almonds, my poop is like gravel, too. I don't want to go into details there, but it's obvious that almond saved my ass.
Thank you, almond!
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