Oh so good

@темы: в жизни всегда есть место подвигу, отдел линейного счастья, О том,немногом...

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Oh, you know what?!
It`s nobody`s business.
Get over the fact that I`m not what you wanted me to be.Maybe I`m even sorry.But a monster has a right to get selfish sometimes,right?
Why am I asking?Why the hell am I asking?I don`t need anyone`s approval.Shut up.

@темы: ich bin der brennande Komet, жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), Яволь!!!

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I’m no Jesus Christ, I’m the one mistake that you love to hate. I apologize

Hah, wanted to add something.
Lately(and not only lately)people`ve been asking me what I`m actually afraid of.And it was a shit ton of trouble for me,such a tricky question,especially considering I never knew the answer.
But I think I get it now.I`m afrad of people.That`s it,I told you,does it help?
And to explain myself:I`m afraid of people `cause some might turn out to be just like me.

@темы: ich bin der brennande Komet, Полковнику никто не пишет(с), жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), Среда обитания

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2 pints of dark belgian.

It`s 4 fucking o`clock and I`m jst going to bed.Beer`s doing wonders to me.

It`s dead weight.

No matter what I say or what I do
I know how this will end
So I turn it away now before we begin

And now matter what you say or what you do
I know how this will end
So I’m turning away now

I’m dangerous for you

@темы: от солидола у них лапки распухают (с), Полковнику никто не пишет(с), жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с)

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I`m just so tired of all this shit

First things first.It`s over.And, wow, it was so not easy.


Also, if everything goes smooth and dandy and I finally get my license I will hopefully be able to travel route 66 or the oregon road(still not quite sure about it).

And well that`s all great but I`m kind of on my own again.Like, for real this time and it`s maybe just a little bit scary.You know, just this tiny bit.
I understand perfectly that it is me who is wrong and I never wanted to hurt anyone, but it was wearing me out to the point where I just had to ask myself what are you doing? it won`t last and you`ll do much more harm if you continue you have to decide now or never so I called it quits.I`m so horrible,how could you ever tell me I`m not when I so clearly am.How could you be so nice that it annoyed me so much.How could you be so perfect that it made me run and hate.Hate myself mostly.Well,that`s all pretty uncomfortable but I don`t care.You know,I`m not ever sorry at all.And it makes it so much worse.
But I get to fly a helicopter,so it might not be all that bad.

@настроение: Oh, wow, look, I`ve made a post and there are no swear words in the main text.So fucking fabulous.

@темы: Полковнику никто не пишет(с), жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), Встречный ветер, О том,немногом...

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So, last one in the line and I`m gonna be off.

@темы: в жизни всегда есть место подвигу, жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), О том,немногом..., Небо будет за нас!

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Yeah, baby, give `em to me

@темы: отдел линейного счастья, О том,немногом..., Небо будет за нас!

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@темы: в жизни всегда есть место подвигу, О том,немногом..., Небо будет за нас!

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You are annoying and I loathe myself

So deep in the closet I`ll soon reach Narnia.

@темы: от солидола у них лапки распухают (с), жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), Встречный ветер, Среда обитания

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"The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice.
Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed."
~ Papa Hemingway

Yeah, well, shit happens.
No one ever told you it wouldn`t.

shhh

Why am I not as magnificent as you were? .
You were a horrible, horrible person.
But magnificent nevertheless.

@темы: жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), Встречный ветер, Архив тайной полиции

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Sad, but true

I open my exam textbook and feel like a Balrog.
Because all I see is Gandalf's words:
Thou shall not pass!!!

@темы: от солидола у них лапки распухают (с), жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), Суровые серые будни с привкусом железа, Встречный ветер

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Do you notice how we love the dead much more than the living?

@темы: Полковнику никто не пишет(с), жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с)

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adjfgjklg;l'hjk;l

Some kid in a movie whispered:"Santa?"
What do you think I`ve heard?
Yeah,Satan!
What the hell is wrong with me?

@темы: Великий Я, Эпично, ich bin der brennande Komet, О том,немногом..., Что это,Отто?!

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asfdgf

this is ten percent asfdgf, twenty percent cry

fifteen percent help ive fallen im gonna die

five percent weeping, fifty percent done

and a hundred percent reason to fly into the sun

@темы: Эпично, ich bin der brennande Komet, Что это,Отто?!

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fine-boned, pretty thing,bulletproof with shatter lines-red dirt; grass-green eyes

I just love my brother sometimes:
“She’s my big sister.She’s the thing the scary things are scared of.”- while talking with his friends about fears.

@темы: Великий Я, отдел линейного счастья, О том,немногом..., Небо будет за нас!, Среда обитания

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Be brave.For it might turn out to be the best thing.

@темы: от солидола у них лапки распухают (с), в жизни всегда есть место подвигу, Встречный ветер, О том,немногом...

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I`m in deep shit, but do I care?No,I don`t!

@темы: жизнь - это процесс, а не результат(с), О том,немногом..., Небо будет за нас!

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Hey,you!

@темы: в жизни всегда есть место подвигу, отдел линейного счастья, О том,немногом..., Небо будет за нас!

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Look what I`ve found

dimitritsykalov.com/#home

@темы: Тапочки-мухоморы, О том,немногом..., Что это,Отто?!

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Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out

We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . .
When I say this, it should mean laughter,
not poison.

Every morning the maple leaves.
Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts
from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big
and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out
You will be alone always and then you will die.
So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog
of non-definitive acts,
something other than the desperation.
Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party.
Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party
and seduced you
and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.
You want a better story. Who wouldn’t?
A forest, then. Beautiful trees. And a lady singing.
Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on.
What a sweet lady. Sing lady, sing! Of course, she wakes the dragon.
Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly
flames everywhere.
I can tell already you think I’m the dragon,
that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon.
I’m not the princess either.
Who am I? I’m just a writer. I write things down.
I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,
I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow
glass, but that comes later.
And the part where I push you
flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,
shut up
I’m getting to it.
For a while I thought I was the dragon.
I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was
the princess,
cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,
young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with
confidence
but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,
while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,
and getting stabbed to death.
Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal.
You still get to be the hero.
You get magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights!
What more do you want?
I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re
really there.
Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?
Let me do it right for once,
for the record, let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes,
you know the story, simply heaven.
Inside your head you hear a phone ringing
and when you open your eyes
only a clearing with deer in it. Hello deer.
Inside your head the sound of glass,
a car crash sound as the trucks roll over and explode in slow motion.
Hello darling, sorry about that.
Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry we
lived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell
and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.
Especially that, but I should have known.
You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together
to make a creature that will do what I say
or love me back.
I’m not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are not
feeding yourself to a bad man
against a black sky prickled with small lights.
I take it back.
The wooden halls like caskets. These terms from the lower depths.
I take them back.
Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.
Crossed out.
Clumsy hands in a dark room. Crossed out. There is something
underneath the floorboards.
Crossed out. And here is the tabernacle
reconstructed.
Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were all
forgiven,
even though we didn’t deserve it.
Inside your head you hear
a phone ringing, and when you open your eyes you’re washing up
in a stranger’s bathroom,
standing by the window in a yellow towel, only twenty minutes away
from the dirtiest thing you know.
All the rooms of the castle except this one, says someone, and suddenly
darkness,
suddenly only darkness.
In the living room, in the broken yard,
in the back of the car as the lights go by. In the airport
bathroom’s gurgle and flush, bathed in a pharmacy of
unnatural light,
my hands looking weird, my face weird, my feet too far away.
And then the airplane, the window seat over the wing with a view
of the wing and a little foil bag of peanuts.
I arrived in the city and you met me at the station,
smiling in a way
that made me frightened. Down the alley, around the arcade,
up the stairs of the building
to the little room with the broken faucets, your drawings, all your things,
I looked out the window and said
This doesn’t look that much different from home,
because it didn’t,
but then I noticed the black sky and all those lights.
We walked through the house to the elevated train.
All these buildings, all that glass and the shiny beautiful
mechanical wind.
We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,
smiling and crying in a way that made me
even more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I
just couldn’t say it out loud.
Actually, you said Love, for you,
is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s
terrifying. No one
will ever want to sleep with you.
Okay, if you’re so great, you do it—
here’s the pencil, make it work . . .
If the window is on your right, you are in your own bed. If the window
is over your heart, and it is painted shut, then we are breathing
river water.
Build me a city and call it Jerusalem. Build me another and call it
Jerusalem.
We have come back from Jerusalem where we found not
what we sought, so do it over, give me another version,
a different room, another hallway, the kitchen painted over
and over,
another bowl of soup.
The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.
Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.
Forget the dragon,
leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness.
Let’s jump ahead to the moment of epiphany,
in gold light, as the camera pans to where
the action is,
lakeside and backlit, and it all falls into frame, close enough to see
the blue rings of my eyes as I say
something ugly.
I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way,
and I don’t want to be the kind that says the wrong way.
But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.
There were some nice parts, sure,
all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamas
and the grains of sugar
on the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I’m sorry
it’s such a lousy story.
Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently
we have had our difficulties and there are many things
I want to ask you.
I tried that one time, high school, second lunch, and then again,
years later, in the chlorinated pool.
I am still talking to you about help. I still do not have
these luxuries.
I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together.
We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . .
When I say this, it should mean laughter,
not poison.
I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes.
Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you.
Quit milling around the yard and come inside.


By Richard Siken

@темы: от солидола у них лапки распухают (с), в жизни всегда есть место подвигу, О том,немногом...