Письма друзьям и не только


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@irarabooka - можно написать мне, если захочется.

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Kukuzyabr walked down the street and smiled. A few minutes before, it and its friends were drinking, then they ate a lot, and then they went home, giving Kukuzyabr a new nickname: “You are beer now, Kuku!”
Kukuzyabr smiled, stumbled and almost fell.

Kukuzyabr was just learning to stand on its feet, and move its arms. Also this night Kukuzyabr claimed to meet expectations. Friends expected Kuku to reach home on its own. This is responsibility and self-discipline. And Kuku itself clearly understood this.

It looked ugly but kind of charming. It had a large round head, not even round, but oval, dripping in places like a puddle, thin arms and legs, no body, no neck. It had gloomy eyes and a charming smile attached to its head, which always caused those around it to be confused. “This is how the paradox was defined,” thought Kuku. The smile was attached a little closer to the chin, making the chin almost invisible. In short, Kuku looked like this:


Kukuzyabr was born into this world as a strange creature, it grew up among the same strange creatures in a confusing world. But there was something remarkable about all of this: everyone pretended that everything was clear. So did Kuku from time to time. Kuku’s favorite thing in life was sometimes to read something, but more often to unwind its head, and then determine some claims. “This state of mind is like a tangled ball of thread,” Kuku defined the claim in the mornings when its coffee ran low and a mini-Kuku formed on the stove.

And now, at one in the morning, Kukuzyabr was returning home along the rocky streets and repeated: «Obviously, Kuku! There's beer inside. So you are beer too».

The unusually shaped head swung from side to side. What was happening there? The strange creatures surrounding Kukuzyabr told it once: “There is an order of things. There is the primary and there is the secondary.” But Kukuzyabr had a special talent for hearing in antonyms and, therefore, perceiving the world antonymously. It got the world this way: “There is chaos in the world. And everything goes on and on…” “The beer is fermenting”,— Kuku added at the end, after thinking. A tangle of thoughts began tangling in its head. “To comprehend the situation, you need to count the steps”. It started: one-two-three... Got lost, and started over. One-two-three-four... Quit and start again. Eh, you are a damn idiot! Its expectations turned into a cold reality for it: “You can’t even count! But everyone can!”

Kuku stopped for a moment to wind down. It looked at its thin leg, although it was hard to see because of the wide smile that was closer to the chin, and pulled the leg forward so that it became noticeable. “Left-right-left-right,” Kuku began, pushing its right leg forward. “So if you let them go, your legs will get you somewhere. Sounds smart…”

All streets led to the square into which strange creatures were flocking without strong resistance, but intentionally, the clock was striking almost two in the morning. In the end, it was necessary to walk the unfortunate hundred meters to get home. But Kuku suddenly felt that now was the time to just lie down and flow down to the center of the square, as some did, and rest a little, until dawn, and then as it goes. Even though it was extremely irresponsible in the eyes of its friends and its own.

Strange creatures similar to Kuku walked around the square, they drank and danced and several times confused Kuku with beer, which made Kuku smile at the thought of what wise friends it has, and how exactly they called it beer half an hour ago.

Dawn was approaching when Kuku found itself completely alone in the middle of the square. All the threads were pulled into strings, even here and there a fresh morning breeze came through between the threads. Kuku tried to stand up, its puddle-shaped head swayed a little, and its thin legs tensed. But that's the only thing that bothered it. Kuku reached home without much effort: there was no need to count, no need to march, but it was worth trying as it could happen in general life.


Три косые строчки о танцах:


1. Спокойствие. It is a three-thousand-year-old tree I met three years ago in China somewhere in the woods during a solo trip to a national park in Jiangsu province. I touched the surface of the tree, and felt the warmth and humidity of its vivid constant infinite pulsating energy.

2. Пограничье. It is Spring, which gives breath to nature and dies in Summer. It is Stravinsky's Spring dance. It is hectic, unconscious. It is a dead-end of every movement. It is the last breath, which used to be natural when you were a kid.

… I had been watching the dance until I felt the cold.

3. Совершенство. It is a light touch of a brush with black ink on a white rice paper, where the strength and will of the brush and mine are visible. This is the dance of the brush, leading the line of life high up, higher than birds fly. The movement intends to fill the fragile paper with ink keeping in mind freedom in between black lines. The line breaks in the emptiness, after reaching the completeness of brush movement.




мы утром с Аруной в Сиене суету наводили, а потом я спустилась в подполье и выпила шот эспрессо с Лаурой. у нас своя борьба


В марте тоска селится где-то в желудке, как котенок царапает изнутри, пробирается в застенки, играет с душой, как с мышкой.

Люди, наверно, потому и придумали всевозможные дела, только бы не заметить тоски, особенно мартовской. Но всякий, всякий, кто идет после работы, учебы, или после веселой вечеринки и вдруг посмотрит на небо, оказавшись в одиночестве своих мыслей, наверняка попытается заглянуть в душу небу, глубоко вдыхает сползающую к горизонту темноту, и понимает, что его тоска — та же темнота глубокого вечера, упоенная первыми надрывными запахами весны.


Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing


Сегодня случайно попала в театр на концерт Паганини. Увидела брошюру, никак не связанную с концертом. Появилось новое любимое сочетание: cerca sogni. Говорю девочкам: это же я и мой кот, только на картинке мальчик и его собака! Но какая… Как обычно: какая разница.

Дни летят. Какие-то из них очень безнадежны. А какие-то нет. Есть свет


— знаешь, меня иногда расстраивает, что девочки смотрят на меня как на пацана.
— это лучше, чем если бы смотрели как на чушпана.


I can see a major system error in me!!!!!




Вечерние беседы с Аруной.

— можно устраивать такую арт-терапию каждые выходные.
— слушать Шопена.
— еще надо купить ароматические свечи
— и пиво


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Я никогда не поддаюсь влиянию атмосферных пертурбаций, а также совершенно условных делений времени. Я охотно ввел бы в употребление курение опиума или ношение малайского кинжала, но мне совершенно неизвестно употребление часов и зонтика, этих бесконечно более пагубных, и к тому же мещанских инструментов.







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