Nothing personal. Nothing at all... :P
***
I acquired myself a man.
First time in my life. All my friends already have had them, but I somehow managed to escape. Well, obviously I knew men before, but they always existed outside my flat, and appeared in it only periodically.
But once…
In the morning I came to the toilet and discovered that the toilet seat was up. Thus a new era in my life began. A man settled in my house. I thought he wouldn’t last long: they are capricious… First thing he declared that since we were living together it was inhumane to use condoms. However he didn’t clarify who it was inhumane to. I had three ideas. My beloved seemed to be bothered by only one. It didn’t suit me. I accused him of being egoistic and unconcerned. He advised me to buy myself a dildo. I reminded we lived in an age of HIV. He said he was not like this. I made it clear that I though he was crazy. He packed his ties. I grinned. He slammed the door. I dyed my hair. He opened the door with his own key. ‘Just got in time before the pharmacy closed. Here,’ he was holding a shiny pack of condoms. ‘Was your hair red before?’ Thus we started living together.
I stopped freaking out when I came back home and saw lights in my windows. I didn’t tell people that they’ve got the wrong number when they asked for him. My pillow smelled of his perfume. My beloved snored at night, pulled the blanket towards himself – the blanket ended up on the floor. He read crap books in the toilet, and then shouted to me to bring him toilet paper. I advised to use pages from whatever book he was reading at that time. When we went to see my friends he quoted Kant. And every day he stepped on the cat’s tail, and every day he assured that it was an accident. He taught me how to navigate by stars, scared away my girl friends. He gave me a rubber boat as a present, and he was scared of my mum. At night he woke me up with kisses, and he sniffed when he washed his face. He splashed the bathroom mirror with toothpaste, and bought me strawberries in winter. In short, he was irresistible. There appeared a sound system and dumbbells in my house. The music was on morning till night. The dumbbells were inactive. When I was cleaning the carpet I always had to move them around. My guests were stumbling upon them. My neighbour Kate told me that these pieces of iron ruin the aesthetic beauty of my living room. When I had enough of it I proposed to put them away in the closet. My beloved was fuming with righteous rage. He reminded me that a healthy spirit can develop only in a healthy body. And that he actually saw a suitable weight in a sports shop.
‘Have to work on my biceps.’ He informed me confidently.
On the other hand, I always had shaving foam in my house. And I could participate in my girl friends’ talks about what our beloved ones did yesterday:
a) played computer games till morning,
b) spent whole day under his car,
c) ate week’s supply of sausages,
d) broke a cup and changed a burned bulb,
e) said that TV kills brain cells,
f) spent his evening watching boxing,
g) hid my telephone book,
h) … is a bastard and parasite
In short, while living with a man I made quite a few discoveries. Some are nice and some are not.
First discovery: he exists.
Second discovery: he was always hungry! He wasn’t satisfied with a cup of coffee and a mandarin for breakfast. There appeared new unknown to me products: butter, fat, sugar, vodka, pasta. The rating of mayonnaise consumption was unbelievable. I started to notice recipes in women’s magazines. I was tormented by the question of what to cook for dinner. I wend mad. I consistently roasted, boiled, grated and tasted something. I gained three kilos. My beloved was fit, happy and always ready to eat. When he said ‘Do we have anything tasty?’ and shoved his head into the fridge five minutes after the dinner, I wanted to kick him from behind and close the fridge. I was dreaming that shops invented products that said ‘Male food. 10 kg’. You buy one of those and you don’t have to worry for the rest of the day…
Third discovery: he was hiding his socks. I hope he wasn’t hiding them from me, because I definitely knew he was wearing them. I never saw him walking barefoot. No, I was sure he used the textile benefits of civilization, but… as soon as he came from work he started to look for secluded places and there, as chipmunk hides his food, he buried his socks rolling them up in the shape of compact curlies. And no way on earth could I persuade him to leave those?... snails?... at least in the bathroom. With the maniac determination my man was parking his socks under the sofa, under the armchair, under the bed, and it seemed like he was ready to rip off plinths, just in order to bury his treasures there.
Fourth discovery: he made a last will every time he had a tooth ache or a blocked nose. He moaned and signed as a wounded bison. He choked every time he heard the word ‘hospital’ and appealed to my mercy. He demanded to finish him off in order to release him from inhuman sufferings. He was holding my hand and advised to paint his old Opel before selling it. As a real man, lying on his death bed he suppressed his cries and bid farewell to what was most dear to his heart: music discs, mobile phone and sports magazine.
Fifth discovery: he knew how to be silent. He could spend all day sitting in front of the TV and saying nothing. He, who knew two languages and had a degree, could communicate with me with three phrases: ‘Good morning, darling’, ‘What are we having for diner, love?’ and ‘Come to me…’ But in all fairness, his communication with his mum or phone conversations with his friends weren’t much more expressive either. His relationship with his best friend was based on joint watching of football matches and pronouncing capacious comments:
‘Pass! I said, pass!.. What a moron!.. More beer?..’
Sixth discovery: being silent, he hated silence. I could never solve this paradox. Not only did he touch his sound system more often than me, he barely got away from TV, and he switched the channels with the speed of light. The only things he watched till the end were the news and sport programmes. The rest of the time he constantly clicked the control. The images flicked as in a sinister kaleidoscope. I felt dizzy. And the worst thing to do was to stand between him and the TV. As soon as I happened to be there he made a diplomatic demarche: ‘Disappear from the screen!’
Seventh discovery: he jealously protected his territory. His domain consisted of: his place at a dinner table and his favourite armchair. Even our guests were not allowed to sit on his stool in the kitchen. Poor cat rushed away from the cosy armchair as soon as it heard the familiar heavy footsteps. I never crossed his borders. My female intuition told me that it was better not to encroach upon his male throne, his sacred mug and his majestic slippers. On the other hand, it is absolutely safe to hide the hateful dumbbells. Or even better, give it away for recycling – my precious weightlifter is unlikely to notice the loss.
Eight discovery: supervision and surveillance.
‘Who were you talking on the phone with?.. Who is this guy on the picture?.. Where have you been between four and five in the evening?.. Where did you get those earrings from?..’
‘With my girlfriend. My brother. At the hairdresser’s. You gave them to me…’
Ninth discovery: no more could I spend hours in my fragrant bath. All ninety kilos of my beloved bunny constantly attempted to force their way in. He was in desperate need of a toothbrush. Or he had an urgent desire to repair the bath tube which was leaking for two months. Or he was interested whether he could fit in the bath with me, and how much water our bodies would expel according to Archimedes’ law. Or he was simply lonely and he whined at the closed door calling out for my conscience:
‘I suffer from the lack of communication!’
But as soon as I exited the bathroom, my sufferer returned to his armchair satisfied.
‘What about Archimedes’ law?’ asked I.
‘I’ll have a shower later’ informed me my beloved and turned his face back to the newspaper.
Tenth discovery: he had a bristle. Well, obviously he had it even before our cohabitation. But he used to shave before our dates, and now I observed him nearly twenty-four-hour a day… The skin on my face started to flake.
Eleventh discovery: he couldn’t remember our important dates!!! At all. Amnesia. Selective memory loss. He remembered the Bastille day, the day he had a car check up, the day he went into the army, but the date of my birthday could never fix itself in either of his cerebral hemispheres. He could miss even Christmas Day, if it wasn’t for all the buying craze.
‘They started to sell the fir trees. It’s time to stock on alcohol.’ He made his thoughtful conclusions.
Twelfth discovery: he was absolutely unpractical. He could not plan our budget. When he went out to buy meal he got back with five bottles of beer, a pack of crisps and an ice cream. He was too shy to ask for change. He couldn’t bargain. He bought everything the shrewd sellers offered him. And once he went to buy potatoes and came back with roses. I signed.
‘I love you’ He said, holding out the flowers.
Twelfth and a half discovery: he loves me…
In short, living with a man is like a game of chess. Continuous match with incomprehensible rules.
‘A night doesn’t move like that’
‘Silly you… How then, do you think, a night moves?
‘Like that…’
‘Let our neighbour move it like that, I will move it like this…’
‘When exactly did we develop these new rules?’‘Last minute… I said so. It’s your turn, darling…’
***
As always translated from some sources too ambigous to mention....
Saturday 27 September 2008
Monday 15 September 2008
A story
my personal interpretation of a part of Estonian epic "Kalevipoeg". It doesn't really match the original that well, but it serves my purpose much better.
***
Once there was a leader of men who decided to travel to the world’s edge in search of precious treasures and ultimate wisdom. His councillors, agreed that in order to get to the edge of the world he should sail north, towards the pole star. They cautioned him though, that it is dangerous to sail north, as the wood will be burned by the northern lights. This did not stop the brave leader and he ordered his ship to be made of pure silver. After many months the work was complete and the ship was ready to sail. The leader took many wise advisors and brave warriors with him and off they sailed, guided by the light of the pole star.
The ship and its crew met many hardships as they sailed towards the world’s edge. Evil wind wizards sent great storms on their way, which wrecked the sails to bits, sea gods created maelstroms which tried to swallow the ship, yet the leader and his crew continued to pursue their goal.
They saw strange lands and encountered unknown creatures. They saw a land of fire where nothing living could survive, and they saw a land covered in ice. They saw a land where the grass was gold, home of the proud giants, and a land inhabited by dog-people, creatures that looked part like humans, but had a dog’s head and a dog’s tail. More often then not, these creatures did not take kindly to newcomers and the leader and his crew, mighty warriors as they were, ended up bringing havoc and destruction to the lands they came to.
Once, heading back to the ship after another battle, the great leader met a local wise man, who asked him why he, a noble man, was destroying the people and the land in his anger. The leader answered that he did so because they slowed his voyage. When the wise man learned that the leader was looking for the world’s edge and the ultimate wisdom buried there he said:
“You were deceived. The world does not have an edge, and no secret knowledge or precious treasures are hidden away from humanity. As for the ultimate wisdom, how can you ever hope to achieve that if in your blind rage you destroy nations?”
The leader then understood his mistake, turned his ship and set sail towards his homeland. When he saw that his crew was disappointed with his decision and the fact that they haven’t found anything along their journey, he said:
“Do not despair, for we have gained something much more valuable than any precious treasures. We have gained the knowledge that the world has no bounds and limits and that we can learn everything there is to know from just looking around ourselves.”
***
Once there was a leader of men who decided to travel to the world’s edge in search of precious treasures and ultimate wisdom. His councillors, agreed that in order to get to the edge of the world he should sail north, towards the pole star. They cautioned him though, that it is dangerous to sail north, as the wood will be burned by the northern lights. This did not stop the brave leader and he ordered his ship to be made of pure silver. After many months the work was complete and the ship was ready to sail. The leader took many wise advisors and brave warriors with him and off they sailed, guided by the light of the pole star.
The ship and its crew met many hardships as they sailed towards the world’s edge. Evil wind wizards sent great storms on their way, which wrecked the sails to bits, sea gods created maelstroms which tried to swallow the ship, yet the leader and his crew continued to pursue their goal.
They saw strange lands and encountered unknown creatures. They saw a land of fire where nothing living could survive, and they saw a land covered in ice. They saw a land where the grass was gold, home of the proud giants, and a land inhabited by dog-people, creatures that looked part like humans, but had a dog’s head and a dog’s tail. More often then not, these creatures did not take kindly to newcomers and the leader and his crew, mighty warriors as they were, ended up bringing havoc and destruction to the lands they came to.
Once, heading back to the ship after another battle, the great leader met a local wise man, who asked him why he, a noble man, was destroying the people and the land in his anger. The leader answered that he did so because they slowed his voyage. When the wise man learned that the leader was looking for the world’s edge and the ultimate wisdom buried there he said:
“You were deceived. The world does not have an edge, and no secret knowledge or precious treasures are hidden away from humanity. As for the ultimate wisdom, how can you ever hope to achieve that if in your blind rage you destroy nations?”
The leader then understood his mistake, turned his ship and set sail towards his homeland. When he saw that his crew was disappointed with his decision and the fact that they haven’t found anything along their journey, he said:
“Do not despair, for we have gained something much more valuable than any precious treasures. We have gained the knowledge that the world has no bounds and limits and that we can learn everything there is to know from just looking around ourselves.”
a bit of my favourite
"From there, after six days and seven nights, you arrive at Zobeide, the white city, well exposed to the moon, with streets wound about themselves as in a skein. They tell this tale of its foundation: men of various nations had an identical dream. They saw a woman running at night through an unknown city; she was seen from behind, with long hair, and she was naked. They dreamed of pursuing her. As they twisted and turned, each of them lost her. After the dream, they set out in search of that city; they never found it, but they found one another; they decided to build a city like the one in the dream. In laying out the streets, each followed the course of his pursuit; at the spot where they had lost the fugitive's trail, they arranged spaces and walls differently from the dream, so she would be unable to escape again.
This was the city of Zobeide, where they settled, waiting for that scene to be repeated one night. None of them, asleep or awake, ever saw the woman again. The city's streets were streets where they went to work every day, with no link any more to the dreamed chase. Which, for that matter, had long been forgotten.
New men arrived from other lands, having had a dream like theirs, and in the city of Zobeide, they recognized something from the streets of the dream, and they changed the positions of arcades and stairways to resemble more closely the path of the pursued woman and so, at the spot where she had vanished, there would remain no avenue of escape.
The first to arrive could not understand what drew these people to Zobeide, this ugly city, this trap. "
Italo Calvino Invisible Cities
There is a bit more here - http://www.sccs.swarthmore.edu/users/00/pwillen1/lit/citysum.htm
and way much more in the book...
This was the city of Zobeide, where they settled, waiting for that scene to be repeated one night. None of them, asleep or awake, ever saw the woman again. The city's streets were streets where they went to work every day, with no link any more to the dreamed chase. Which, for that matter, had long been forgotten.
New men arrived from other lands, having had a dream like theirs, and in the city of Zobeide, they recognized something from the streets of the dream, and they changed the positions of arcades and stairways to resemble more closely the path of the pursued woman and so, at the spot where she had vanished, there would remain no avenue of escape.
The first to arrive could not understand what drew these people to Zobeide, this ugly city, this trap. "
Italo Calvino Invisible Cities
There is a bit more here - http://www.sccs.swarthmore.edu/users/00/pwillen1/lit/citysum.htm
and way much more in the book...
Monday 8 September 2008
words that make me cry
As i entered another nostalgia period, i remebered a song i used to love very much but rarely listen. Problem with the song us that it always brought tears to my eyes. I translated it... after a bit of a weeping session. Again it can't possibly be anywhere near it's original (considering it's a song which is supposed to be listened to, rather than read), but it's probably better than nothing.
***
Best Song about Love
So now, sit down and listen -
He never wanted her to weep,
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings –
Thus making her afraid to sleep…
On weekends he bought her candies,
Pointed out the lines on her hand
But most of all he used to enjoy
Calling her by her name.
She was about thirty six
When he very quietly died,
She didn’t even get a chance to dial
His simple number one last time…
Then, for the first time, she bought him flowers –
Two perfectly white lilies,
As a sign that nobody has ever
Called her by her name like he’s.
And she was seventy six,
When she herself has passed away.
No, she wasn’t scared of death,
Rather, she’s always awaited that day.
She used to, you know, sit by the window,
And watch the blue sky, as if her only aim
In life was to die and meet him there,
So that he could again call her by name.
And, if you look at it, it was an absurd life
But then again, can you really blame
Them, sitting on a cloud with dangling legs
And calling each other by name.
***
Best Song about Love
So now, sit down and listen -
He never wanted her to weep,
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings –
Thus making her afraid to sleep…
On weekends he bought her candies,
Pointed out the lines on her hand
But most of all he used to enjoy
Calling her by her name.
She was about thirty six
When he very quietly died,
She didn’t even get a chance to dial
His simple number one last time…
Then, for the first time, she bought him flowers –
Two perfectly white lilies,
As a sign that nobody has ever
Called her by her name like he’s.
And she was seventy six,
When she herself has passed away.
No, she wasn’t scared of death,
Rather, she’s always awaited that day.
She used to, you know, sit by the window,
And watch the blue sky, as if her only aim
In life was to die and meet him there,
So that he could again call her by name.
And, if you look at it, it was an absurd life
But then again, can you really blame
Them, sitting on a cloud with dangling legs
And calling each other by name.
Wednesday 3 September 2008
Tuesday 2 September 2008
letter to Liz
It's another one of those vague translations from Russian of mine. The author is quite well known in Russian internet community. Here is the link to her journal if you are interested - http://vero4ka.livejournal.com/ . I really hope she doesn't mind me translating an odd bit or two without her explicid permission. I always feel silly to ask. I am an internet social freak.
***
It is so great – the period of Capital Letters have passed. Before it was necessary to Love and to Suffer, otherwise there was No Point in Life; To Die Young, so you don’t Live till Helplessness, This Is the Last Time I Say “Love You”, This World is Pathetic Imitation; life was interesting, everything was so Important, Serious, always it had a moral, like in a good fable, “No Thanks Needed” or “I Deserved It”; also I liked to write “Curtain” in the end of every, in what was my opinion, brilliant dialog; there was so much things to do, suicide games, big grand preparations for death, all those long letters – really, I don’t remember when I last wrote a Letter, oh, no, wrote to Mike this spring, and before to Alex about two years ago – I don’t practice letter writing at all; well, it was so exiting, all the time you look sideways at someone invisible, tell everyone “no need for dramatics” in such a dramatic way that chandeliers jingle; no, it wasn’t false either, it’s just the way you functioned, with all this conglomeration of adjectives (bitter-sweet, sickeningly loved, languishingly eyed, goldenhaired, Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus – I think human passes the same stages as literature, begins with longwinded fervent hexameter and ends up with a gay football rime), most importantly, I really hated grown up chauvinists, all those madams with understanding faces, “we’ll talk to you in five years”, “dear me, honey, what can you possibly know about it” – I growled and dilated nostrils, no, what can you possibly know about it, dried up people, damn it; I talk with Liz, she is eighteen, she asks “so what, no light at all?”, “what’s next?” “He couldn’t possibly set up all of it” or “it is so terrible – when you’ve got nowhere to go to”, - I feel myself being that madam, that loathsome smirking madam; she is wonderful, my Liz, small and wonderful, I want to pull her to me an give her a hug; Liz, there is no black and white, “with” and “without” light, Liz, there is no Only One, Liz, you know how many of them there will be, you’ll go crazy when you learn exactly how many of them there will be, and by the way, there is charm in alternation, honestly; Liz, it’s the age, there always has to be an age, when they don’t notice you, maybe somewhere between thirteen and eighteen, nobody reciprocates your feelings, and it is right – you learn how to play the guitar, change baggy sweaters to something more appropriate for your figure, cut your hair, gain a bit of experience, cure the spots, become human – imagine what a self-centred moron would you grow up into, if you got it all in the first attempt; Liz, it’s great when it’s nonmutual, when it’s mutual, when it’s anything – as long as something goes on, it’s the worst, when there is nothing; now you think that you Want Your Rest At Last – oh I loved that phrase only, what, five years ago – you don’t want any rest, Liz, take my word on it, rest is a hell for adrenalin-addicted people, which you and I are, we need movement, so there is no time to think, thinking is the death of it; I was thinking all summer long, Liz, I was lazy, sick and thoughtful, it was a horrible summer, I would have been better off dancing and kissing.
Nothing was in vain – if it’s ok, then “God loves me”, if the boy doesn’t call, then “God doesn’t love me anymore” – so funny to think about it, Liz, seriously, we think too much of ourselves when we are eighteen, it seems everyone is plotting how to hurt you; the world is big, everybody has their own businesses, honestly. Everything usually has simple and prosaic causes, no Providence, and what’s perhaps most intolerable – there is no real Endings – neither tragic, nor happy, nothing, everything ends crumpled and infamously, or just plain silly, or it becomes something else; this is the hardest to live with, teachers liked to ask us in school about the Main Idea of the Book – Liz, if a book has a Main Idea, it’s a collection of bullshit and not a book. Everything has to somehow end foolishly, or puzzled, or strange – then it will be like in real life; no happy endings, no ten corpses, it is all fiction, Liz. First of all, nothing ends before you die, and as far as I am concerned there is lots of interesting things after that too.
Oh and also – there is no finite Happiness and Prosperity. Liz, it’s the most horrible. Even if a woman meets a man of her life – or, sorry, a Man of Her Life, - Liz, they live together for two years, or three, or five, and first she stops wanting him, because you never want that which is next to you all the time, then they start to quarrel, so that at least something is going on, then they become jealous, then there appear reasons for jealousy, then the kids grow up and fall ill – Liz, just think, happy mutual love is as much of a horrible trial as a dead calm – you obtained each other, conquered each other from the whole universe, you are together – and? Well, Ok, you travel together. Drink. And the rest. Burt nothing really exiting happens, Liz, and we can’t live without it. That’s it. Fights, reconciliations, sex on big holidays – Liz, it’s horrible. Even with Him! With the One and Only! Liz, “got married and lived happily ever after” – it’s not like they save on words, it’s just there is really nothing to say. All six hundred pages they conquered each other all throughout a month, and then they got married and for the next forty years nothing happens, Liz, this makes you as desperate as the lack of love. There is no finite happiness while you are alive. You wanted a house, you bought a house, and after two years you are as bored there as you were in your previous one; and you will never be satisfied. My problem is that I get bored even quicker than most – happiness is in alternation, Liz, my friend Sergey Gavrilov is right, “when you are alone – you want a woman, when you are with a woman – you want to throw her away and live freely”. But don’t get me wrong, even this is not Terrible and Hopeless and it does mean There Is No Chance for Happiness – no, that’s life, that’s just how it all is, Liz, so much happens, you start to wonder, but Nothing is fatal. You can live with anything. Anything, Liz. Human is viable, adaptable, hellishly nimble creature, no Love till Death, no Sufferings too Great to Endure – everything passes, Liz, passes so quickly that you become uncomfortable that you had created here all this hell, horror and anguish.
And this is great. You suffer from capital letters, from feeling that everything is so incredibly important and unique, and only with you, and only now, and then you notice particularities and details, you start to get lots of pleasure from some futile little things, you stop keeping old stupid junk and in your house and in your memory – live is unbelievably long, it is interesting to live it all though, try it all, learn it all, wait for it all, see how it all turns; no “Don’t You Want for It All to End” – no, I don’t, sometimes I hurt a lot, sometimes I am scared to death, sometimes I don’t want anything for months – but no, I don’t want for it to end, it’s exiting.
The further we go, the more exiting it gets, Liz.
(c) Vero4ka
***
It is so great – the period of Capital Letters have passed. Before it was necessary to Love and to Suffer, otherwise there was No Point in Life; To Die Young, so you don’t Live till Helplessness, This Is the Last Time I Say “Love You”, This World is Pathetic Imitation; life was interesting, everything was so Important, Serious, always it had a moral, like in a good fable, “No Thanks Needed” or “I Deserved It”; also I liked to write “Curtain” in the end of every, in what was my opinion, brilliant dialog; there was so much things to do, suicide games, big grand preparations for death, all those long letters – really, I don’t remember when I last wrote a Letter, oh, no, wrote to Mike this spring, and before to Alex about two years ago – I don’t practice letter writing at all; well, it was so exiting, all the time you look sideways at someone invisible, tell everyone “no need for dramatics” in such a dramatic way that chandeliers jingle; no, it wasn’t false either, it’s just the way you functioned, with all this conglomeration of adjectives (bitter-sweet, sickeningly loved, languishingly eyed, goldenhaired, Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus – I think human passes the same stages as literature, begins with longwinded fervent hexameter and ends up with a gay football rime), most importantly, I really hated grown up chauvinists, all those madams with understanding faces, “we’ll talk to you in five years”, “dear me, honey, what can you possibly know about it” – I growled and dilated nostrils, no, what can you possibly know about it, dried up people, damn it; I talk with Liz, she is eighteen, she asks “so what, no light at all?”, “what’s next?” “He couldn’t possibly set up all of it” or “it is so terrible – when you’ve got nowhere to go to”, - I feel myself being that madam, that loathsome smirking madam; she is wonderful, my Liz, small and wonderful, I want to pull her to me an give her a hug; Liz, there is no black and white, “with” and “without” light, Liz, there is no Only One, Liz, you know how many of them there will be, you’ll go crazy when you learn exactly how many of them there will be, and by the way, there is charm in alternation, honestly; Liz, it’s the age, there always has to be an age, when they don’t notice you, maybe somewhere between thirteen and eighteen, nobody reciprocates your feelings, and it is right – you learn how to play the guitar, change baggy sweaters to something more appropriate for your figure, cut your hair, gain a bit of experience, cure the spots, become human – imagine what a self-centred moron would you grow up into, if you got it all in the first attempt; Liz, it’s great when it’s nonmutual, when it’s mutual, when it’s anything – as long as something goes on, it’s the worst, when there is nothing; now you think that you Want Your Rest At Last – oh I loved that phrase only, what, five years ago – you don’t want any rest, Liz, take my word on it, rest is a hell for adrenalin-addicted people, which you and I are, we need movement, so there is no time to think, thinking is the death of it; I was thinking all summer long, Liz, I was lazy, sick and thoughtful, it was a horrible summer, I would have been better off dancing and kissing.
Nothing was in vain – if it’s ok, then “God loves me”, if the boy doesn’t call, then “God doesn’t love me anymore” – so funny to think about it, Liz, seriously, we think too much of ourselves when we are eighteen, it seems everyone is plotting how to hurt you; the world is big, everybody has their own businesses, honestly. Everything usually has simple and prosaic causes, no Providence, and what’s perhaps most intolerable – there is no real Endings – neither tragic, nor happy, nothing, everything ends crumpled and infamously, or just plain silly, or it becomes something else; this is the hardest to live with, teachers liked to ask us in school about the Main Idea of the Book – Liz, if a book has a Main Idea, it’s a collection of bullshit and not a book. Everything has to somehow end foolishly, or puzzled, or strange – then it will be like in real life; no happy endings, no ten corpses, it is all fiction, Liz. First of all, nothing ends before you die, and as far as I am concerned there is lots of interesting things after that too.
Oh and also – there is no finite Happiness and Prosperity. Liz, it’s the most horrible. Even if a woman meets a man of her life – or, sorry, a Man of Her Life, - Liz, they live together for two years, or three, or five, and first she stops wanting him, because you never want that which is next to you all the time, then they start to quarrel, so that at least something is going on, then they become jealous, then there appear reasons for jealousy, then the kids grow up and fall ill – Liz, just think, happy mutual love is as much of a horrible trial as a dead calm – you obtained each other, conquered each other from the whole universe, you are together – and? Well, Ok, you travel together. Drink. And the rest. Burt nothing really exiting happens, Liz, and we can’t live without it. That’s it. Fights, reconciliations, sex on big holidays – Liz, it’s horrible. Even with Him! With the One and Only! Liz, “got married and lived happily ever after” – it’s not like they save on words, it’s just there is really nothing to say. All six hundred pages they conquered each other all throughout a month, and then they got married and for the next forty years nothing happens, Liz, this makes you as desperate as the lack of love. There is no finite happiness while you are alive. You wanted a house, you bought a house, and after two years you are as bored there as you were in your previous one; and you will never be satisfied. My problem is that I get bored even quicker than most – happiness is in alternation, Liz, my friend Sergey Gavrilov is right, “when you are alone – you want a woman, when you are with a woman – you want to throw her away and live freely”. But don’t get me wrong, even this is not Terrible and Hopeless and it does mean There Is No Chance for Happiness – no, that’s life, that’s just how it all is, Liz, so much happens, you start to wonder, but Nothing is fatal. You can live with anything. Anything, Liz. Human is viable, adaptable, hellishly nimble creature, no Love till Death, no Sufferings too Great to Endure – everything passes, Liz, passes so quickly that you become uncomfortable that you had created here all this hell, horror and anguish.
And this is great. You suffer from capital letters, from feeling that everything is so incredibly important and unique, and only with you, and only now, and then you notice particularities and details, you start to get lots of pleasure from some futile little things, you stop keeping old stupid junk and in your house and in your memory – live is unbelievably long, it is interesting to live it all though, try it all, learn it all, wait for it all, see how it all turns; no “Don’t You Want for It All to End” – no, I don’t, sometimes I hurt a lot, sometimes I am scared to death, sometimes I don’t want anything for months – but no, I don’t want for it to end, it’s exiting.
The further we go, the more exiting it gets, Liz.
(c) Vero4ka
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