Is It Normal To Have Gay Thoughts

St. Petersburg, March 2008

      Лица Петербурга
                        About
city of Petra, the capital of my life!
No, I can not speak in verse!
What beautiful women's faces!
What stupid peasant hari!

O Jesus,, prayed, of Mary-whore!
O Rama Kpishna of - say - Hare Hare!
What petchalnye thin person! What
rather thick hari!

Oh, I do not understand reality or a dream!
As in the Garden of Eden, on me, fluttering from the sky
congregate air person,
out of the crib pripolzshie fed hari.

Why, tell me, I did not stumble? By any
willing to pay sins!
about these heady mystery person!
about these buhie swollen hari!

Already watches me abroad.
But there will be with me, like an oasis in the Sahara
and these inspired faces,
these soulless sleepy hari.

And if I miraculously manage to get drunk,
will haunt me in a drunken stupor
and a fairy tale born bright faces,
and pyanozachatye brazen hari.

line by line, page appears.
Theme I entrusted to pick up a guitar.
Well do not sing These are honest people and those
debility false hari!

Yet my heart of equal
(God commanded: every creature - a pair!)
and these magical sensitive faces,
and these holy unshaven mugs!



March sonnet N1

Blessing verse -
is given to us from above.
To move out of boredom is not a roof,
the paper extends a hand.

Marani scratch
returns to earth again,
when instead of heat and words
cuddling you void.

And the ghostly image of Lilith,
it gradually releases,
and silent chorus of grief,
and fewer seem to hurt,

and understand head,
that you just do still alive.


Feeling nostalgic ;
City
sovereign under the whitish-gray sky.
constructions of capitalism and modern kitsch.
on walkers for the Salvage and urgent
bread with an armored car looks bleak Ilyich.

Trills mobil birds singing replace.
prices are rising like grass in spring.
Eternal dirt everything and everywhere to give a damn about. In the day of the thirty
times brought by travel.

This naive boorish state,
poor cops and gangsters paradise north,
sleepy saleswoman haughty gentry,
in fever, trembling old tram.

These carbon monoxide breathing tube
at intersections, streets and bridges.
tiny apartment in-box -
where there you guys have a piano in the bushes?

These eyes (those eyes do not mind),
this in the metro grandmother gibus,
gaggle Madonnas, this is almost Joseph,
this chuchmek this buhoy sailor ...

echo times, an echo of past desires,
someone's hand again in your hand.
former names and unforgotten names
sweet taste of honey on the tongue.

This magical voice of the Beautiful Lady -
then to the seventh heaven, the Face of teybl.
These "Blockhead - moron" television program,
sex, advertising and news cocktail.

This godfather a bit buggy,
this dune yellow blank papers;
these friends, the Montagues and the Capulets,
eternal flame of their little vendetta.

Here's my life, joy and loss,
happiness and pain, Faith, Hope and Love.
As someone said at the Last Supper,
it, 'brother, my flesh and blood.

again call - someone calling for dinner.
Again bridges are being strangled in the arms of the Neva.
What am I, a goat, you'll go back on,
as I myself once again without a live ...


Petersburg epilogue

That passed the point of return.
's already announced a landing.
The aircraft - like the boat to Charon.
from mad Garden of Eden.
where I was bitter and sweet,
flying to other people's madhouse.

It's not that life patted -
just flame burns dimly,
no music and friendly voice,
simple life stream dries up,
just someone's eyes is not enough
and warm church candles.

being completed two five-year plan
in gilt, comfortable, but the cage,
and as if no other way.
But to me do not die of boredom,
should definitely go back!
Dying - so with the song and at home,

where boats float our memories,
where thinning friendly terms
loneliness our burn
and under the deep heart knocks some
Good Magician руки
из осколков тебя собирают.      
     
                                                                                                    

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the November

        Утешение от мизантропа    
               
                
As time has power over us -
you just look in the mirror!
with a cheerful neighing horses
vain rush days.
Zatopchet us - and not notice the herd of thoughtless
and dashing!
Well, there is no happiness in the world!
But where is the will and the rest?
That tearing us apart,
then we burning at the stake
come disastrous passion,
plagued We love and fear.

But, however, neither yarilos,
spinning wheel space,
as a gift from heaven as God's mercy
comes down to us a magician, a dream. He carries us
in other countries,
where there is no pain, no hard feelings -
and heal our wounds,
and conscience is no longer itching,
and are not afraid of fire and block!
And life itself meets us,
so that Reconvene the particles of dust
into one big piece of shit.

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September October

September
;             Элегия, памяти Тёти Эллы
                                                              Warning : here under the cut a record with a floor!

air was full of quiet grace,
nature of the released bits,
calendar and glided from the date of date,
and life was easier and bitching,
giving rise to the mood of boozy
and forget the worries and affairs.

space was clear and ruble,
all evram and dollArpm contrary,
and I suddenly do something lousy
napivats and I was not with his hands.

On blyadki went cat-gulena
murchal and me - you, too well done! -
a dominant, sighing wiser,
Heavenly Father winked at me.

in the glow of the golden horizon of the lay
September, breathe happily,
and ash flew Maple Leafs,
inaudible sound of a waltz by circling hearts,
autumn covered Sandman,
was lonely and full of love,
and thought sadly: - Mother ebena!
How pervasive пиздец!                                                                    

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       Октябрь
Variations on a Theme Rabinovich


Late autumn. Misty haze.
Gold leaf has long squandered.
ended the paradise in a hut.
At Rendezvous invites the Creator, but
softly, softly and very carefully
cat scratch on your soul.

Forests rustle mysterious sleeping.
Perhaps, in this picture decadent
hidden meaning of the Universe.
in someone's blog, I met an abandoned
saddest word "eschatology"
and wept bitterly.

gloomy prophecies of the prophets, dashing
not overshadow my loneliness,
crushes another trouble:
ezhli, as before, also nonecha
theme resistance I have Rabinovich -
I drown myself in shame.

vague feeling born again,
sentimental as movies Ryazanov,
inexpressible in words.
blurred contours. shifted lines,
someone tracks spread out in clay and
hiding shadows in the corners.

Paints and smells of ripe Solanaceae.
liquid with a salty snack Zelenova.
long nights spell ...
Somewhere joined Collider adronovy,
something in the hole winked озоновой 
и - ничего, НИ-ЧЕ-ГО!...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

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humans and mice

... Mouse - it's a miracle that one can combat the millions of infidels! - Something like Walt Whitman put it. Maybe he did not very exaggerated. Our mouse if not immediately, then at least got two wrong - me and Margaret. Transported to a poor old woman a few boxes with trash, which have long stood outside the house - and the third week of this infection lives in the car, left chews chocolates and paper handkerchiefs, Viet their nests, ignores cheese and ham in a mousetrap, not responding to the entreaties and profanity in your address. And what to do, where to go - who would give good advice?

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poor Julia

Good man from St. Petersburg sent a link to:
http://www.eblog.ru/index.php?newsid=2763

came across Learn Oleg Levitan
http://olevitan.livejournal.com/21588.html
http://olevitan.livejournal.com/19846.html and LJ in general

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came, saw, Heritage

yesterday, today t.e.uzhe night looked Learn Rabinovich, continued in the comments of his verse, in the morning added.
http://rabinovich.livejournal.com/458670.html