Reflections: Russian

[menestral]

В такие моменты появляется уверенность. Там, внутри есть стерженек - он стальной и он не сломается. Он гибок и пружинист, но он никогда не прогибается. Горжусь, и улыбку спрятав за смехом, удивлюсь. Была ли я уже такой, или сделала себя, слепила заново из потрескавшихся кусочков цветного стекла. И есть ли разница

Comments

[akirad]

It is one my life's ambitions to learn russian.

But then, marrying Neve Campbell is another, so they're not necessarily realistic ambitions, you know.

I didnt know what you were writing about so I decided to imagine, imagine... I wondered if you were posting about how hard it is to get up on a sunday morning - or even if it is worth it.

Good, good. Inspiration. Like being drunk. I started a poem based on that thought:

in the flat plain of my bed
in the season of sunday
while the rain pounds its gavel
judgement on my wooden head

lololololololol (etc)

bad poetry rocks. and rolls. like an oiled bearing on a polished glass table.

[menestral]

Well, I liked the poetry bit... Somewhere very deep down (very very deep). It's sincere and in sincerity lies the magic of poetry, no? lo.l

Also, experimenting with the text is a fascinating thing. And so your lololololol made me think of a Roman palisade in one of the quasi-mansions of Swaziland. The (etc) addendum was like a tasteful designer signature using the initials of the man. Ernesto Terrapin Cicone.

Anyway, I think your understanding of the main point of the entry comes pretty close, if not in the form, at least in the essence. Come to think of it, every entry in my (and your and--) journal could be summarized to a post about how hard it is to get up on a sunday morning - or even if it is worth it.

an oiled bearing on a polished glass table rocks. It should be a stanza in a westernized tanka.