& жж

19 отктября 1745 года не стало Джонатана Свифта. Накануне вечером он испытывал странное беспокойство, точно предчувствовал свой последний миг. По воспоминаниями близких декана, он даже неожиданно заговорил после долгих лет молчания. Первое слово, произнесённое Свифтом, было слово "Когда?".

(с) Г.Горин - Дом, который построил Свифт


торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Alice: Which way should I go?
Cat: That depends on where you are going.
Alice: I don’t know where I am going.
Cat: Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

и дальше



торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Меня зовут... неважно как меня зовут.
Мне... неважно сколько мне.
Я... коллекционер.


Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;

(c) Alexander Pope


торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Шшш... - прошипела тишина. Some things are better left unsaid.
Конечно, всех всегда учили говорить правду. Те которые отклонялись от истины, были признаны лжецами и врунишками. Они ещё и наказывались. Иногда. А что теперь? Теперь существуют прямолинейные люди, которые всю правду скажут в глаза и за глаза. Люди, порой жестокие, но свято верующие в свою правоту. Только вот зачем эта правда? В прочем, риторические вопросы - не моя специальность. Some times silence is the wisest answer. Да, молчание - золото. Хотя многим нравится серебро. А что такое это серебро? Металл? Деньги? Столовые приборы? Седина? Роса? Туман? Снег? Вода? Цвет? Время? Материя? Жизнь? Каждому своё. Решайте для себя сами. Я-то уже знаю. Да знаю. Моё серебро это... Шшш... - прошипела тишина. Some things are better left unsaid.


From a place far away...

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is an absurd one.
(c) Voltaire

There are two ways to slide easily through life; to believe everything or to doubt everything. Both ways save us from thinking.
(c) Alfred Korzybski

So which one shall it be?


Will you join the dance?

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail.
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

Хорошая книжка. Посоветовала бы всем и каждому. Фильм немного изменён, но тоже ничего.


The House

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
It was a normal town. A town like many others. It was a quiet street. A street like many other streets. It was an average house. A house like many other houses. It was old, but well built. They say this house was the first one of its kind. All the others were just duplicates. However, it doesn’t matter to us. The house was built of red brick. It had a main entrance, which was like a big mouth devouring everyone who went into it. It had many windows, so it looked like a multi-eyed creature. Curiously enough, all the eyes were never open all together. The house wasn’t very tall, (only about 8 floors and the ground) but it was surrounded by same-type-houses, so no one noticed.
Every morning the house woke up very early. Every night the house went to sleep really late. Some days the house would feel down and low, but other days it felt young and fresh. Once a year, an old gentleman came to check on the house. The gentleman looked whether it was in good condition or not. He used to talk to the house and the house used to listen.
- Good morning, ol’ pal. How is it going this year? Oh, I see you’ve got a new crack right here, - and it was certainly true because the house had many little cracks on it. The house used to think they were wrinkles. You can’t get away from them, can you?
- Just look at this! They broke one of your windows! – the old gentleman exclaimed. He was right again. When little children used to play soccer by the house, they broke its window. They broke its glasses.
- And what happened here? Did they have an art contest? – the old gentleman used to ask, when he saw writings and drawings on the walls of the house. The house itself thought of them as tattoos. It was an old house, but it was still cool.
Each year the old gentleman smiled and used to write in his report that the house was in satisfactory condition because the old gentleman loved the house. It was where he grew up.
This year it was all different. The old gentleman didn’t come when he was supposed to. He didn’t come the next day, nor the day after that. Only a week after, a middle-aged man came in. He was the new inspector. The man went through the house. He didn’t talk. He only shook his head, frowned and wrote something down in his report. The old house got scared and all its wrinkles, broken glasses, tattoos and other weaknesses became even more noticeable.
The next day the news came in. The house was to be repaired and reconstructed. All of its habitants were to leave the house within two weeks. The government gave them a temporary habitat nearby. The old house was sad, when he saw everybody abandoning it. It would have cried, if it only could. In two weeks, the house was absolutely empty.
The reconstruction went by quickly. The house was now clean, repaired and looking absolutely wonderful (like someone after a successful plastic surgery). All the windows were replaced. The walls were writing-free, the cracks were fixed, the lobby was renovated. There was even some work done in the apartments themselves. Everything looked perfect. People started moving back in the house. They were happy to get back there. The sat on the stairs, they opened the windows, they filled the place with joy… but something wasn’t the same… The old house was dead.


торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
What is the point of suffering if no one can see…


Из коллекции прошлого

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Do me a favour and listen for a moment.
You and I have been talking for a long time.
Believe it or not, but I have a question to ask.
In a way it is a stupid question.
Friendship is a strange thing…
Between two people.
A Man takes friendship is own way.
And doesn’t act with his friends the way others do.
A Woman thinks of a friend in a different light.
Or she just shows her affection more often.
Are those two people men or women doesn’t matter.
You and I are different, but we seem to care about each other.
Just don’t take me the wrong way.
Playing is not my thing and you know it.
Around now I should have asked the question, but I don’t have the guts.


Из коллекции фильмов

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
I lived in the time of Hector.
I lived in the time of Achilles.

Is the world spinning any different when you are gone?
It doesn't. You know that far to well.
A silent cry in the frosty air.
Hero's come and go.
Fate and destiny bring them to Earth and show them the way...
To fulfill their quest or personal legend and then they...
Die just like everybody else... like everybody else.


Из коллекции стихов

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
I've changed
for those who are and used to be

The feelind was profound.
I could go round and round.
I could go round and round,
Missing you.

But now...

The same thing everyday,
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say,
Whey you are here.

There's nothing left to hide
And no truth to confide.
And no truth to confide
All the way.

Nothing's meant to last.
I can't give you my trust.
I can't give you my trust.
Nor can you. anymore

There's nothing left to seek.
No words are left to speak.
No words are left to speak.

I used to love you so,
But now I'll let you go.
But now I'll let you go
Because I've changed.


From a place far away, again.

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.
(c) Robert Benchley (1889 - 1945)

The first time I wrote something good was... I can't actually remember what it was. Probably it had something to do with opinion writing for this was the thing that always facinated me. A long long time ago I used to write little stories everyday. It is fun to re-read them now. They never failed to make me laugh. But going back to the first thing I ever wrote. I truly enjoyed the results of my writing, but not the process. Where is the fun in taking a pen and putting down some letters and words? It is even worse with a keyboard. I just can't put myself to it. It is mainly up to other people. Rarely, very rarely, I decide to write myself. It usually happens when I am gravely affected by something. In those times I just sit down and don't get up until I'm finished, otherwise the unity is ruined. As to the quality of my writing... Well it could have been a lot better.

Sorry for the English. I don't have a russian keyboard around.


Again, no russian keyboard. Off topic.

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Strangly enough, it seems that some people are interested in seeing my collection. I welcome the people who are brave enough to read this:

.Aki no Ame. - I was impressed by your diary and I find it quite pleasing to see you here.
Folk - Nabludatel'.
Mich-elle - I don't know you much, but your diary is very nice.
Долиана - no need to talk about you *)
меч Короля Мёнина - I am intrigued. By the by, interesting name.

As to me, I enjoy many different journals. Design, name, interests don't matter as much as the thoughts that are put in. Some people are amazingy good at expressing their feelings and saying whatever is on their mind. Those people are usualy really popular here. What am I saying? These people are respected because their thoughts are often misunderstood or considered very intelligent. Don't think I'm saying that they are not.

Mille pardons.


Из коллекции стихов

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Надо написать что-то на родном языке, а то совсем по-английски всё стало. Итак...

за нашу невстречу, за наше потом непрощанье
заплатим с лихвою любовью прозрачной и зыбкой,
руками, губами, словами даря обещанья
другим, принимающим их с благосклонной улыбкой.

цитировать Блока и пить неразбавленный виски,
и плакать украдкой у пьяного дня на задворках
во имя чего? старый скверик единственно близкий,
как чья-то душа в прошлогодней листве и в иголках...

весь наш нероман по странице, по строчке, по слогу
другие прочтут, переложат на новые ноты,
а мы, как ни странно, совсем не заметим подлога,
и будем играть в совершенстве любовь для кого-то...

(с) Горький Мёд


Из коллекции слов: Слова красивые

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Самые обычный слова, которые мне очень нравятся в последнее время... некоторые из-за произношения, некоторые из-за смысла, некоторые просто так...



Из коллекции песен

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
I will still be here
As long as you hold me
In your memory

When your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
Just remember me

I am the one star that keeps burning
So brightly
It is the last light
To fade into the rising sun

And with you whenever you tell
My story
For I am all I've done

I will still be here
As long as you hold me
In your memory
Remember me

I am that one voice in the cold wind
That whispers
And if you listen
You'll hear me call across the sky

As long as I still can reach out
And touch you
That I will never die

I'll never leave you
If you will only
Remember me

I will still be here
As long as you hold me
In your memory

When your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
I live forever
Remember me
Remember me
Remember me


Из попыток

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Пыталась перевести "Зов Крови" на английский.
Действительно смешно.
Вы когда-нибудь пробовали?
Я бы опубликовала свой "гениальный перевод",
который несомненно пойдёт в мою коллекцию,
но всё же не стану.


Из коллекции слов: Слова красивые

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Очень красивое слово, на мой взгляд. Французский вообще язык мелодичный.

А теперь в качестве эксперимента слово "честь" на различных языках.
Английский - honour
Французский - honneur
Немецкий - ehre
Итальянский - onore
Испанский - honor

А теперь "красота".
Английский - beauty
Французский - beauté
Немецкий - schönheit
Итальянский - bellezza
Испанский - belleza

Думаю, что мораль подводить не стоит. Люди и до меня догадались, что языки можно поделить на группы.


Из коллекции слов: эксперименты продолжаются

торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Спасибо Долиане. Напомнила она мне о нём.

Русский: судьба
Английский: fate, destiny, doom, lot
Французский: sort, destin
Испанский: destino, sino, suerte
Итальянский: destino, sorte, fortuna, caso
Немецкий: schicksal, geschick, los
Чешский: osud (спасибо etelle

Вы когда-нибудь говорили ни о чём? Знаете, просто берёте и отстаиваете свою позицию, не зная точно о чём вы говорите, но интуитивно догадываясь, что именно вы правы. Довольно интересное занятие. Сидишь так и говоришь с совершенно обычным человеком о совершенно необычной теме. Я не имею ввиду разговоры о квантовой термодинамике (простите меня люди сведующие), а что-то такое неопределённое, дающее волю свободной интерпретации. Забавно.


торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
Empty Coca-Cola can

all the men you'll never get to kiss