Memory of France

Together with me recall: the sky of Paris, that giant autumn crocus…
We went shopping for hearts at the flower girl’s booth:
they were blue and they opened up in the water.
It began to rain in our room,
and our neighbour came in, Monsieur Le Songe, a lean little man.
We played cards, I lost the irises of my eyes;
you lent me your hair, I lost it, he struck us down.
He left by the door, the rain followed him out.
We were dead and were able to breathe.



“…you know that this time, we have to…you know…ours…” And then: the menacing silence of the emptiness.

Stubbornness and pride: a fatal option. And finally, the possibility of a fall… savour! …explore the limits of masochism – to the bare bones.

I should say something… I have to say necessarily… But all my inner efforts: only a triumphant failure of my (questionable) rationality. (…gap in my memory spreads like oil in water): I literally sink into the abyss of insensibility… Time – at this moment – is something very precious… But there is  – all this time gnawing at my soul  – this cursed, stupid male pride.

“If you continue with this stubborn… persistent silence …then, I will…”

I think – and ask myself – about one thing: did anyone – surely – know how much noise makes a pride when it breaks? – An Intense smell of futility… I doubt on me…
Great God! …how seductive, and how sweet in this moment SHE is… this radiant face, in these meager, barren lighting of the room…

The heart is a moody assassin: today, it will kill me out of pure curiosity… Who will free me of my destructive, devasting pride!?

“Ok, if you have nothing to say, then it’s time that I…”

This non-locked (gaping) door; This mute, interrupted glimpse of the darkness… This (remaining) faint scent of her perfume in the coldness of the room – that is all, what’s left.


Loneliness is a bad leader… Before me, nothing –  Behind me, nothing: Just a sleepy, gray silence of the empty afternoon… I this coffin of living souls – there is nothing, not even a newspaper stand… Only a physically present desolation – as in a chip since fiction movie.

“… a solitude of moles, in the earliest hour.”

“Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
   Thus unlamented let me die…”

…there is no passion for the card games as in Dostoyevsky’s IGROK, disturbing circumstances and headache as in Kafka… Here is the only glowing wasteland, and materialized monotony. Another failed attempt to escape from the claws of modern misery…  And now? – I longing for everything – I’ve  cursed before…

A kind of enmity ( I can literally feel ), spreads in my inner…  A. murmurs something of politeness and good manner…  If exist a place, where fine manner is superfluous – then it is here. Politeness..? POLITENESS… is something for cowards!
Due to her spiritual nonsense (nonsense that is caused by her new friends ),  we have come  into this pit of “righteous” and “faithful”

I enter the stage of my inner being 
There is a farce played
a dizziness, shameless
and brazen; obnoxious


“The Russian soul is a dark place”.
– F. Dostoevsky


If there is something like that – then would be this my yesterday’s “Literary Déjà vu”:

I could not decide otherwise, and basically that was not a decision that was an inevitable fate. I still felt melancholy and even fear, but in this melancholy and anxiety lived already the feeling of boundless happiness. (…) I sat alone by the fire and sat with a wistful longing for my loneliness, and longing  for myself. 

…one of these moments when only the disappearance of heaven is comforting equivalent…
…or Russian way: All that  (gathered in these last few months) melancholy, drawn in a sea of vodka and brandy…

With my whole INSOMNIA, I’m in love with you…

Life is beautiful. 
Not my, of
course, but 

Earlier this morning in the subway:

I should not always… but what the hell…
…I was… flooded by a sudden wave of howling impulses and wild passions …
My deplorable soul… my dozing hearth… dreams, hopes, fears, etc. All this, I was ready to spread out – on the floor; in front of her sleepy, tired Face.

I’ve always been (that must be said), inclined towards a fatal, foolish and masochistic stubbornness…  Despite the countless hours of repentance; careful analyzing of my own – nothing helped!

While the sleepy
counters of you, I
 watch –
the blueness 

of the down, in
your gaze reflected

…these and others kitschy nebulous  – while I watched her – went through my head…

In fact: the heart is a true hypocrite..!

In the intervals between wakeful dreams and mute screams of life, I thought: how many of us – and how often – was a secret subject of adorations or longing – without knowing anything about. She ( my unknown girl), is perhaps lonely, sad and forgotten – or maybe not… these just meaningless postulates… But the sad fact is: I am my greatest enemy.

But at this moment (as I write this), I wonder: while in the apartment – some of us – carefully cultivate its vegetative solitude, ever thought (for example: in an unscrupulous and surprising attack of loneliness),  that somewhere outside; somewhere out there, in this endless sea of quiet and vulnerable shadows (with wich we encounter daily), –  is someone who thinks about you?
Tell me!!