Veronichka

detstvo

Easter

door

pose

Paris

Off with my head !!!

I'm steadily gaining on my alter ego..There's less "why".. I stopped seeking reason.. These are stacked implosions of varying magnitude, no one's hurt, no one knows.. I do. My head is gone..gone with Nick Cave's fairytale sadness and doom and wild roses..Tropic of Cancer re-read on lunch hours..I'm late everywhere..my senses jolted out of rut by this throbbing tender lust..like a low grade fever its making me ache..spring fever.

I'm in the mood for travel..

Sladkaya N

...

Квадрат окна в потолке каменного мешка лестницы, никогда не видела раньше. Сегодня я замечаю все -- все мимо чего хожу каждый день и не вижу, а сегодня вдруг увидела. Оказывается на шпиле церкви по пути на работу вместо креста -- трубадур. Оказывается то что я считала музеем -- ферма и сегодня там пасутся коровы. И наверное ежедневно, но ежедневно я их не вижу. Слева от меня живет пожилой джентльмен с тяжелым психическим расстройством -- весь его день расписан по минутам, к его левому уху привязан будильник и он ходит с ним держась за стены и ждет что же будет дальше..у него нет "сейчас", только потом. Он не может доесть завтрак потому что приходит "потом" и он должен бежать чистить зубы.. Байрон. Родом с Эквадора, слепой с 9 лет, он говорит на 8-ми языках и играет на всех инструментах. Когда Байрон не говорит по-французски с гаитянскими санитарками и не играет на гармонике, он кричит. Так истошно что хочется встать и пойти убить его этим будильником. Байрон боится тишины. Он, как прОклятый мартовский заяц, неусыпно следит за временем. А время тикает ему в левое ухо что-то страшое и Байрон кричит. Справа от меня живет очень тихий попугай. У него депрессия. Остальные обитатели, одуревшие от воплей Байрона, потихоньку колотят его и тогда Байрона надо спасать. Hапротив сидит улыбчивая бабушка и всегда желает мне смерти, не снимая улыбки, иногда подмигивая. Дружу с попугаем..
Это было вчера, вчера был разгар весны и много солнца. А сегодня тьма и пурга, но сегодня я дома..

in passing

I want to kiss your mouth every time you speak..or smile. Your full soft lips with a hint of honey and cigarettes and something so promising it makes me weak in the knees..I love the way you look for me in your sleep, the way you moan a little when your hands glide up and down my body, the warmth and wetness of little kisses planted where your lips meet my bare skin, our warmth and peace together..asleep, yet aware of each other. Its a miracle.

2 y/o, good as new

08:45 pm: on happiness
Happiness is dull. Unlike anticipation with its chances and worries and what ifs -- happiness is a consummated affair much like death..You can't top happiness. You have to fight comfort like cancer to stay alive. But you won't. Comfort's addictive. Eventually, you'll have to blow it all up to be able to feel again..pain, anger, lust, regret -- above all, for its happiness you're doomed to crave when the smoke is gone..Anticipation is the true happiness. To feel. That acute tingle of uncertainty..it won't sustain you, but what's left is but a compromise. Every day compromise to talk yourself into choices you made..Free not to make choices ?..Strong enough to be your own person ?..Lucky you. Lucky miserable lonely you..

I see dead people..:)

lost and lost

I got him on my mind today..filled the car with his music. As if slowly bleeding, I feel no pain, but I'm weak..He taught me how to say goodbye and for that I'm thankful, if a bit sad. I'm at the edge of a glass house looking down, lightheaded, lighthearted, light as a whisper. I say his name and I loose him, again, only now it feels ok, it feels good to let go.

lost and found

"Well the lush separation unfolds you --
and the products of wealth
push you along on the bow wave
of the spiritless undying selves.
And you press on God's waiter your last dime --
as he hands you the bill.
And you spin in the slipstream --
timeless -- unreasoning --
paddle right out of the mess."

calm..ish

I read the last post and realized it is borderline psychotic..definitely manic with delusions of grandure, I learned enough psychiatry and been round crazy people too long to know that much. BUT I FEEL GREAT !!! This is March, getting under my skin..I mixed all sorts of fun this weekend, I'm spent. I am officially a sex addict, good coffee addict, turn-your-head-off-mid-meeting daydreaming addict, pump your heart out workout addict, write it all out in an erotic blimp to drive a man mad addict. I'm hooked. I am tempted to fill this space with words and images far more graphic than its ever seen..I won't. But if I would it would look damn hot :)

Mirror mirror on the wall..I am going through withdrawl

Revelation elation,
High on anticipation
Tension, attention,
too sick to mention.
I see stormy spring,
a fling, a tall drink
And too much rain
too soon, Mansoon.

ITS SPRING !!!!!!!!

March is here..fuck the calendar, I FEEL IT ! I can't stay focused, or dressed, or asleep..I'M ALIVE. I got russian booz blues in the car that's making it worse..hope someone darts my crazy ass with a tranquilizer before I do something stupid....

Premonitions, angels, falcons, unquiet mind

SPB, dead of winter. Beware the low flying angels.. I only catch glimpses of that world, my world..Realities of all sorts hold me firmly on the ground, no escape, not any more. Lower expectations with a chance of freezing rain. I was looking at a face of a man I used to love, two snapshots, 8 years apart, and it hurt me that he has aged so. I wanted to touch his hair, almost all grey now, to kiss his eyes, like before..it wasn't love, it was pain from loosing the image of him imprinted in my head, it was somehow my loss and I quietly mourned it over a drink. Who knew loosing can be so exciting ?..And I've only lost a few preconceived notions. I want to be above my own anguish, above pettiness ravaging my soul, tiny little grudges with long and lingering shadows. I should let it go. There's always peace in random angel sightings, in the sudden humbling awareness of being in an otherwise completely oblivious world.

off

Lazy morning, crazy morning hair, cup of tea, chipped -- bad luck, I'm barely up and dwelling on man's past - a drop of tar in my perfect earl grey. Take it back, I don't want to know. Or else I'll feel like sharing and give you a monkey for your back..alas, I am too kind to men and their prescious egos. Fuck the past. I got errands to run, a good book to read..I'll go for a ride and space out and nothing will get to me today. Today, I got Me, baby.