The snow and the beard

In university girls didn't take to me immediately so I started using the pages I had written my stories on to roll cigarettes or for toilet paper. It didn't change the way girls acted towards me right away. But I would say that in the end it did. It definitely did.

I wanted to eat every day, but only once a day. Sometimes I didn't eat at all. I was busy smoking my stories. I spent all my money on tobacco and sometimes people bought me lunch. Lunch is the meal you need if you plan to eat only once a day, because, obviously, it is strategically located. Though, of course, it's even better if it's a late lunch.

So what else does a person need besides a late lunch, tobacco, and stories to smoke the tobacco in?

Not a lot, really, though perhaps love?

Life is possible without love. Life is infinitely more complicated without tobacco.

For a while I went without a beard. If you had asked me a month ago about what happened you would have been asking for trouble and tears. Now I can talk about it with some measure of calmness.

One day as I was walking on campus I attempted to light one of my stories, which I had rolled very poorly (as poorly, you could say, as the stories had been written!), and the flame went running up the paper and onto my beard. When I finally did make it to class that day, with my beard shaved away, the girls all started noticing me. I don't know if it was the absence of the beard, or the bravado of my new beardless attitude: now that the beard had disappeared nothing seemed to matter. I suppose it was a bit of both.

Anyway, it was snowing nearly everyday, and I found myself beardless. And not only that, but with very promising amorous prospects as well.

The day after I lost my beard a girl looked at me while I was settling into a seat in the back corner of the library. And the look was playful.

That night the wind blew so hard outside my window I thought it was going to break the glass and fill my room with snow. So I slept on the floor in the kitchen.

The next day when I sat down in my spot with the bad kids at the back of my Russian class, another girl looked at me and smiled outright.

If you always get food caught in your beard, then it becomes a reflex to wipe it away when someone smiles and points at a spot – you don't even think about it.

'I don't have a beard,' I said. 'What could you possibly want?'

She looked away in confusion.

The next day it was the same thing.

So much confusion.

Eventually, I grew accustomed to the attention and adapted. I started chatting to people in public and giving high fives. I stopped reading books, and started dancing.

I danced in clubs and in my kitchen after dark, and left the books in my back pocket for everyone else to see.

On a good day it was 'Faust.' On a lesser day it was 'Notes from the Underground.'

But that was purely accidental, and I hadn't thought of it purposely. I had long since stopped thinking of things. Thinking was a thing of the past. Now we danced.

But I still had no money, and actually, while on the outside everything seemed all wonderful and interesting and universitylike, dancing just made everything worse. When I had a beard I could stay at home and read and I felt no compunction about it. Now I absolutely pined after the nightlife.

At first I started hanging out and letting other people pay, but all the people who had previously supported me because I fit their image of the starving bearded artist now despised me. And the people who danced, though it's certainly not my place to judge, didn't care that much about others, though again, it's not my place to judge, I really just didn't understand their culture.

So I wound up staying at home in the end.

And that was just dreadful. And I started to lose my marbles.

I wore my scarf at home because it was so cold, and that wasn't the same as the time I wore my jeans to bed just to see what it would be like. I thought – I wonder what it would be like to go to bed in my jeans. And so I did it. I must say didn't like it.

I did, however, enjoy the scarf. I enjoyed it thoroughly, though, as they say, it was done for necessity. It was really cold.

My socks all had holes in them, 'though I don't mind in the least. It lends me a Victorian dignity,' I thought.

At this time I started elbowing people in crowds. And if people were looking in the other direction I would make faces when they coughed. One time I was walking through the fruit section just looking and smelling, and a kid cut me off and grazed me with his basket. So I lost it and in my rage smacked him and he went flying into the avocadoes. Someone saw me do it and grabbed me by the jacket and a crowd gathered. I started to cry and got really mixed up and said it was an accident and that I had just wanted to scare him. And then I said that he was a common thief and that I had seen him here many times stealing fruit and that I could no longer bear the thought of fruit being stolen and that I was no nark so I took justice into my own hands. I said a lot of other things which I won't repeat because they might make you uncomfortable. The people became so uncomfortable and embarrassed they let me go and gave me a lot of free food. Which was a godsend actually, because I had very little money and was surviving on mustard and bread. And tobacco, of course.

This incident changed things and for a while I didn't act out because I was too afraid of punishment. I retired to my cave and gnawed at my wounds in privacy.

One night I broke down and bought a bottle of Gin and drank it straight. My roommate kicked me out because he was bigger than me and teetotal. It was snowing outside and the flakes were coming down big and light.

'Look at the snow,' he said. And threw me out.

I walked around in the darkness and breathed deeply, it was very beautiful, and ended up passing out somewhere along the way under a bush.

I seemed to have dropped my cigarettes there so the next day I went back to get them but I couldn't find the bush.

I had all these memories from the night, standing looking in windows, walking along in the wet snow making up poems that were very beautiful, reciting them aloud.

It occurred to me that if I could find the spot again not only would I be able to smoke but I would also be able to remember some of the poems and they'd win her over, whoever she was. But I never did. Which is a mystery to me. Where had I gone? And more importantly, where were my cigarettes?

When I went home my roommate threatened to break my rib bones if I ever got in his face about Gandhi again. He said he didn't like it because he could smell the alcohol on my breath.

I said the whole thing was a mystery to me, but that's why alcohol was in such demand, because it put a little bit of the mystery back into life which modern science has stolen; but I would respect his personal space nonetheless.

I said the thing about science because he was a biology major and I never missed a chance to remind him that science didn't scare me at all. His nostrils flared, and I walked slowly but surely towards my room. And I stayed there for quite a long time after moving all my furniture and belongings in front of the door.

After a couple of days I left my room and my home for what seemed to be the first time in years! But for what was in reality only the first time in a couple of days. There was snow on the ground, it was wet – man, it's always wet! – and I thought: yes, it is possible, I'll never accept that it is not, I'll just bet that some people live in this world and are happy, and the season changes for them every single day, and the snow is always wet or dry, and I wonder, what other wonderful things do they see…..? What a life!

And I walked over to the supermarket, having forgotten about the incident a few days before, which was extremely unlike me, to take a walk through the fruit section.

But when I got there I was unpleasantly shocked. There was someone really beautiful in the fruit section. She was just walking around and not even looking at the fruit. What could she possibly need there!? She was just walking around in the fruit section. 'Move on!' I wanted to say. 'Get a move on out of the fruit section,' but I couldn't, I didn't have the guts, I was a chicken. And the real reason I wanted her to move on was – she was so beautiful. I know it sounds stupid and not witty at all, but it's the truth. She was that beautiful.

I wondered to myself - could it be, could she be, waiting for me?

It seemed unlikely.

And then the store manager, who had asked me never to come back, walked by.

And saw me.

And started to walk over to me.

And she sensed that something was wrong and stopped just walking around and looked over at me. 'Move on,' I wanted to say, 'get going.' She was that beautiful. Geez.

'What are you doing here?' The manager had every right to ask me that. 'Go on, get out of here. What do you want?'

She looked over at me and I don't know if it was a smile of pity, or if it was a smile at a scene, or a smile of understanding because she had also behaved badly in this very fruit section, or a smile that was pleased to find something to alleviate the boredom of strolling around in the fruit section; whatever it was she smiled so wonderfully that I filled up with spirit and looked straight at the manager and said, very proudly, 'I am leaving. There is nothing here that I want.' And I walked out into the snow.

From the parking lot I walked to the street where I had been the night I got lost and slept under a bush. I walked up and down it, back and forth, for maybe an hour or two. Though all the events seemed very random, though they seemed to be just one little insignificant thing after another I thought about them for an hour or two on that street, I had plenty of time to think over what had happened and I decided that they were all - can I say it? - very important.

From there I went back to the parking lot, it was already dark, and I tried to see in through the window to the fruit section, I wanted to get another look at that smile. Was she there? Was the smile? Not as far as I could see. As it was dark and the snow was coming down I didn't mind. Until I turned around and she was standing there looking at me.

'What are you doing in the parking lot?' I asked.

'What are you doing in the parking lot?' She asked back.

'That's a fair question but I happen to have an easy answer – they won't let me in so I have to stand out here.'

'They kicked me out too,' she said, 'so now we share something.'(It was so improbable! But that's what she said!)

And then she looked at me and smiled the same smile again!

But I need to ask - can I be forgiven if I try to wax eloquent about a girls smile? Is there at least one other person out there who will understand me and won't say, 'oh, come on, enough with the smiles already; maybe you wanna talk about your dreams and kisses and babies too? So maybe give us a break, eh?' Is there at least one other person out there who understands, maybe a person who has a beard or crooked teeth and who gets smiles like that from girls so rarely that when they do they are willing to write a whole story about it, and not only that!? Because the story is the least of it, the story is nothing at all compared to the nights you go to bed with a smile on your own face remembering it; the story is nothing at all compared to the way it stops you from elbowing people in the crowd, and grimacing at people who cough, and just going to class and work and not feeling bad about life at all. The smile is beautiful, man, she was beautiful.

We didn't say anything else to each other but we both smiled and went on our ways. It was a great night, and if I can be forgiven for writing about a smile perhaps I can be forgiven for one more ridiculous remark, maybe I can get away with saying just one more silly thing – I think that smile saved my life(oh, I know, it sounds so silly, how could it save a life? Smiles don't save lives, firemen save lives. Next thing I'm going to say beauty will save the world and smiles can put out fires. But it's true! Smiles can save the world! Smile at people! Especially you girls! And especially at people with beards! All you girls out there smile at people with beards!)

Manchester comes to Moscow

Hier soir, comme prévu on s'est pointé complètement rébou au concert organisé par l'équipe du film paragraph 78 (un film de guerre russe à gros budget dont la bande originale a été composé par les tenants de la scène rock mancunienne des années 90). A l'entrée, on nous dit que le bar est gratos à l'étage. Bon point. s'en suit donc une consommation éhontée et c'est en aucun scrupule que nous jetons nos gobelets à moitié vide sur Dan.

La bière, déjà en masse dans mon organisme, n'a pas pu me permettre de trop bouger pendant le set electro-rock de Richard Fearless.

Ce n'est qu'en tapant dans les boissons à forte valeur ajoutée (b52, vodka-red bull) que j'ai pu me remettre sur le devant pour assister au spectacle navrant de Bez des Happy mondays qui descendait sur scene une bouteille de vodka en échouant sur le sol toutes les cinq secondes.

Une bonne heure après, Ian Brown rentre en scène et là : blackout total. Aucun souvenir, mais ce matin tout va bien.

Tout à l'heure, je reçois un sms d'un de mes acolytes d'hier qui disparut étrangement lui aussi :

"What the fuck happened last night ? got a very vague memory of getting thrown out... got back in somehow. Lost, drunk or had stolen 4000r. Headbutted David. No idea how i got home"


Voilà, un vendredi normal donc..






Stone Roses_I wanna be adored from funtimeok.com

nirvana, bukowski

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
riding a bus
through North Carolina
on the way to
somewhere
and it began to snow
and the bus stopped
at a little cafe
in the hills
and the passengers
entered.

he sat at the counter
with the others,
he ordered and the
food arived.
the meal was
particularly
good
and the
coffee.

the waitress was
unlike the women
he had
known.
she was unaffected,
there was a natural
humor which came
from her.
the fry cook said
crazy things.
the dishwasher,
in back,
laughed, a good
clean
pleasant
laugh.

the young man watched
the snow through the
windows.

he wanted to stay
in that cafe
forever.

the curious feeling
swam through him
that everything
was
beautiful
there,
that it would always
stay beautiful
there.

then the bus driver
told the passengers
that it was time
to board.

the young man
thought, I'll just sit
here, I'll just stay
here.

but then
he rose and followed
the others into the
bus.

he found his seat
and looked at the cafe
through the bus
window.
then the bus moved
off, down a curve,
downward, out of
the hills.

the young man
looked straight
foreward.
he heard the other
passengers
speaking
of other things,
or they were
reading
or
attempting to
sleep.

they had not
noticed
the
magic.

the young man
put his head to
one side,
closed his
eyes,
pretended to
sleep.
there was nothing
else to do--
just to listen to the
sound of the
engine,
the sound of the
tires
in the
snow.

A Star is Born

a winter collage

i typed in dancing frenchmen, and this is what i got , eh?
this is what the world thinks of when they think of frenchmen dancing?
on behalf of monkeys who eat cheese and soldiers who have swords, and little
girls and rats and all that i think we need a better to get along, i think we've all seen what the world can get up to when it hasnt got some kind of idea about something else, and if this is all that can work out for a way, i think that, hey, whatever, you know, but i dont think thats the best maybe

well buddy, huh? eh?

you cant squeeze juice out of a rock breaking hammer! you cant expect rivers and loads of tears from a dried up canon. i screamed but you did not hear the trees, and when i pulled over to the side of the road to roll down my window i had a breath of wind SO fresh, i had to hurl my cookies all over the shoulder. if i could have figured out the first time what shoulder i wouldnt have had to get down on my knees and look around, but as it was i was crawling, feeling around, groping in the dark - and there she was. to be perfectly honest i always knew it would work out that way - in the worst moment of tears, covered in a vomit filled parka, searching at the side of my youth for a key that didnt exist - there she would be, and you know what - there she was. holding a bag of peaches and asking me which i prefered - do you prefer peaches or pears? she asked. i couldnt answer her at first and then she tossed her hair over her shoulder, said she was finished with waiting around, her ride had arrived, and she got into a black mercedes with florida plates and drove off into the night of my first youth.

the bird or the barber

we want any one reading this blog, probably by mistake, or because of a bad link, to vote now, leave your comments, to this question:
will this blog still exist in two weeks time
or in other words,
will dostoyevsky still be trapped in outer space or can he at last return to earth?

Scanner Darkly

{108321}{108386}What does a scanner see?
{108390}{108439}Into the head?
{108449}{108505}Down into the heart?
{108516}{108599}Does it see into me, into us?
{108603}{108655}Clearly or darkly?
{108691}{108801}I hope it sees clearly, because|I can 't any longer see into myself.
{108811}{108861}I see only murk.
{108881}{108965}I hope for everyone's sake|the scanners do better.
{108976}{109071}Because if the scanner sees only darkly,|the way I do
{109075}{109175} then I'm cursed and cursed again.
{109179}{109249}And we'll only wind up dead this way
{109253}{109398}knowing very little and getting|that little fragment wrong too.

All Acknowledge the Superiority of Unchangeable Wisdom to that Which is Variable

Now, no one is so egregiously silly as to ask, "-->How do you know that a life of unchangeable wisdom is preferable to one of change?"--> For that very truth about which he asks, how I know it? is unchangeably fixed in the minds of all men, and presented to their common contemplation. And the man who does not see it is like a blind man in the sun, whom it profits nothing that the splendor of its light, so clear and so near, is poured into his very eye-balls. The man, on the other hand, who sees, but shrinks from this truth, is weak in his mental vision from dwelling long among the shadows of the flesh. And thus men are driven back from their native land by the contrary blasts of evil habits, and pursue lower and less valuable objects in preference to that which they own to be more excellent and more worthy.

Under the tower

I was under the tower, didn't get ontop of it. It was raining and I was drenched to the bones. I looked at the barpapa sellers and thought it's so sweet. She's made of candy and I have a sweet-tooth. 3 hours later it was the new year with a sip of smokey irish whisky, french champagne and seventies fashion everywhere. My name : Paco Rabanne and my wife is the most extraordinary thing I can think about. I failed to be honest, I failed to be a monster, I failed to be myself, I failed to be alone. There will be a time I'll be alone and it would be six feet under, in a box with red-silk walls and a huge non-revolving door the size of a man.

alas, poor max, its come to this

how many men have gone down in action trying to bring this man in? how many lives destroyed by the wicked grin? who taught you to give me the kitchen knife for the sun? who taught you to feed me haggis at the point of a gun? why max? why?
i warned you, didnt i?
i told to - stay away from that tall tower, didnt i?
but you said - i like the cheese, i like the breeze at the top of the tower; i like the view, i like the people falling, one and two...
then i said - those words are meaningless, you sayd them to rhyme, but only because
and you said - thats a good reason, thats a way and a was
oh max, you silly old shoe
if only you knew...
but its too late
as all can see - max has his glasses on, and he's armed with the grin - look out, here comes max! hes ready for the next round of atrocities!

the legend lives on down under

yes, once again, the incontainable fire sparked, the lights glaring, the crowd gone wild - hot and furious seth faces the fact. hot and incontainable he lights the hearts of too many teenage girls, lost forever in the stadium of delirium on the edge of the australian shelf, on the brink of the australian night. will they ever recover? will he never learn? when we will he grow weary of these little escapades he calls ultimate wisdom? what does he know about wisdom?! he forgets to see himself in his true light, he forgets what he truly is - the rock start of wisdom, and the grocer of despair.

Oasis - 'The Masterplan'

sensual seth

heres another one of the wild crew - mad max's right hand man, or should i say: nemesis. as is evident from these, our latest pictures of the culprit, many years wandering in the desert have left him very little respect for those around him: dont be fooled by words and caresses, they are only the by-products of many lonely nights listening to the wayward howl of the dingo. do not approach but with care, and then be certain to carry a large stick - it is the stick he fears above all else.

mad max

if anyone finds this man please report back to us immediately, his name is max and he is extrememly dangerous to himself. last he was seen eating cheese on top of the tower, the name of which i forget, in the city i also cant remember right now off the top of my head. do not try to approach him - he is very dangerous and armed to seduce: with melting cheese and wicked rhymes - all who have approached him in the past have also disappeared.

Slideshow finland - france - russia

Bowled him! With the last ball of the day...

Chocoreve

Doris: You have no values. Your whole life: it's nihilism, it's cynicism, it's sarcasm, and orgasm.
Harry: You know, in France, I could run on that slogan and win.



Chocoreve

Guided By Voices - I Am A Scientist

Tete de noeud