Kitabı oku: «Letter of Letters», sayfa 2

XXI

entwining me with despair —

is like entwining the day

with the cover of night,

it’s like weaving together Ezra Pound,

Georg Trakl and Basho…

first extinguish my sun

that lights up the days,

or erase my lines,

that have forever entered you.

XXII

sometimes i behave in a manner,

as if i loved,

only the other way around.

this means losing one’s bearings.

yes, i am a devastating nocturnal disaster

in broad daylight.

XXIII

instead of opening the ventilation window

and letting the fresh warmth of the summer rain

into our lives,

we frantically tap on the monitor window:

wall photos bleed their dust,

seeing how the one suffocates,

who lives with us in stuffy rooms…

XXIV

races – are a system.

the system – is society.

society – is my paintings.

my eyes are doomed to paint them

as long as i live…

white, black, yellow, red and gray,

we will definitely think up a new painting —

we will create new …isms:

we will write with pink and green,

blue and jade,

emerald and amaranth…

we will definitely breed

and multiply —

we’ll live under the sun of Pollock.

XXV

when we come to terms with a loss

or when we think about that, which we don’t have,

our world falls apart…

there is a way out:

that which reality has not completed —

imagination will complete…

words and faith.

for reality, i often have

no feelings,

but imagination – excites me…

i have enough courage

to admit that —

i am whole and invulnerable.

are you?

XXVI

when i found out about your values…

when i saw the result of your values…

i stopped being afraid —

my fear became worthless,

because now i have nothing to lose

in you.

XXVII

when this world becomes too much,

when the ceilings bury me,

i open the window of myself

and consider the prospect of escaping —

to Sergei Tsimbalenko…

just to Sergei Tsimbalenko.

XXVIII

dear passengers,

relinquish your seats to the elderly,

the disabled, passengers with children

and pregnant women,

relinquish your seats to the discouraged,

those frazzled by the hustle and bustle,

humiliation and abandonment…

when exiting the car,

don’t forget your personal belongings,

don’t forget compassion, kindness…

don’t forget conscience…

don’t forget the poems…

Celan, Whitman, Transtromer,

Lautreamont, Lodeizen, Bukowski…

don’t forget that, you were born

from the very first poet,

who had the word at the beginning.

XXIX

everything is in its place.

everything is on the shelves.

everything is under control.

and then you call:

why can’t you tell the difference

between what’s good and what’s bad?

this is so fucked up… (((

i’m tired.

you are deaf to me.

and i don’t understand anything anymore.

your QR-code can’t be read,

or my scanner doesn’t work…

a dead end…

XXX

world.

a minimum security prison.

the prisoners are taking a walk.

feet move along the walls…

along the steps…

along the pipes…

along the fences…

along the premises…

along the cities…

along the continents…

along the earth…

i guess, in reality, that’s it.

XXXI

my phone number is +79055760936.

if you decide to call,

note:

on the other side of the line

will not be your idea of me —

it will be me there.

XXXII

when there’s no desire to go anywhere…

during their revolutions,

in the bitter period of their tragedies

and full-fledged internal wars…

victory and salvation hide in the details…

a man stands

on the bus,

holding onto a vertical handrail,

which looks like a spear:

he pierced my sadness…

there another one,

with a sealant gun:

he sealed my split seams…

it is good, there are such warriors:

they protect our species from annihilation.

smiling, i continue on…

XXXIII

how many years have passed…

it was only one evening.

didn’t meet with her,

didn’t love her,

didn’t have sex with her,

didn’t make friends with her,

didn’t even kiss her…

a cup, decorated with tea leaves,

verlibras, a little on paper, a little in communication,

elusive music…

goodbye… no messages.

sometimes the full representation comes to me…

lives with me…

leaves again…

i don’t get in its way.

XXXIV

the city.

the way from point a to point b…

a glance determines the reality:

spots on a chair’s trim,

an orange line on the marble,

scratches on a hat,

shimmering red stripes,

a sign «press to open»,

clenched fingers holding flowers,

some sort of box on wheels,

different sized shoes,

dangling heads,

a gray folding backpack,

a shaking ass,

a yellow number «4»,

a symbol with the words «passage closed»,

an ornament with a star on it,

a LOVE REPUBLIC billboard,

an arrow with the word «exit»…

the sense of hearing and smell

interposed into the visible:

musty air filled with the smell of coffee…

gray noise diluted by a radio:

Sordid Affair «Röyksopp»…

in my memory musical images appear:

Bela Bartok, Serge Gainsbourg…

a mixture of sights, smells, and sounds…

once again the sight dominates:

the granite rectangles of the route,

a sign on the right

«emergency door opening»,

headphones in ears,

nails, lips, hair,

gloves emblazoned with a skeleton pattern,

KFC, BURGER KING, a John Wick-4 poster,

Sberbank, Calzedonia,

Hunkemöller, HUGO,

ECCO…

fatigue

stops the information flow,

and the thoughts take a breather —

freed from everything…

but not for long.

XXXV

i’ve often wondered

why one food item

contains both salt and sugar at the same time,

then i realized:

the one and the other complement each other.

this is a very important principle in everything,

that exists.

recognizing good can only done through evil.

comprehending death can only be done through life.

good – is evil in reverse,

evil – is good in reverse.

death – is the opposite of life,

life – is the opposite of death.

the USA – is Russia contrariwise,

Russia – is the USA contrariwise.

Mozart – is Slipknot backwards,

Slipknot – is Mozart backwards.

health – on the contrary is disease,

disease – on the contrary is health.

war – is the opposite of love,

love – is the opposite of war.

loneliness – is society,

society – is loneliness.

Hitchcock – is Chaplin,

Chaplin – is Hitchcock.

Mussolini – is Gandhi,

Gandhi – is Mussolini.

separation – is gathering,

gathering – is separation.

happiness – misery,

wisdom – stupidity,

yin – yang,

dream – reality…

it’s all one.

XXXVI

we throw poisoned words

at one another,

but we continue to live together,

because

love —

is not the absence of quarrels,

it’s not the ridding of hate,

it’s leaving peanuts on the table:

that you really wanted to eat,

but left for me,

as i love them so much.

XXXVII

my loneliness —

is the entire world,

which reads my poems,

but only one doesn’t, who lives with me.

her loneliness —

is the entire world,

which reads women,

but only one doesn’t, who lives with her.

XXXVIII

a relationship crashes,

where already everything is so bad,

that it exits the boundaries of the home

and wordlessly crashes into the ground

in view of everyone…

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XXXIX

a stranger.

black Dr. Martens 1460 boots,

tight jeans,

a dark brown backpack,

tar colored raincoat,

gentle fingers

and a pearl bracelet

(probably TOUS)…

but still the focus of my gaze is

the point connecting the nose and lips.

what am i doing to you?

under great pressure from the situation,

i walk away from it…

and all day long i feel like a winner

or a loser.

XL

only i author my life…

when other writers appear

and dictate their creations to me,

a-la Andy Warhol,

transcendentally

i leave one art form —

for another:

i photograph text in a book

and open a photo exhibition…

XLI

she looked into his eyes

and silently said:

you are so precarious,

that i’m afraid to dream with you —

every time my dreams turn into fear,

conjuring up the abysmal ghost of a nightmare,

clattering hooves into eternity…