Bent branches

Every little drop
Turns into a snowflake.
The problem is that
They are still within me.
Every memory hurts
When it is reminded of sadness
Of not having been told
The happiness wades so fast.
When will I see again
The hot summersun touch my eyes?
When will I feel again
Soft hair embrace my cheeks.
There is no more wine
That can make me drunk.
I wish it could extinguish
Tears of the future afront.


be there

the world is surfaced by distances.
they disattach, tear apart, depress.
they don’t let our mind rest.
they call.
they yell.
they shout.
they make you feel misplaced
entire life.
it is, however, a greater freedom
than staying all your life in a castle.
since all of them are made of sand.


new you, new year

the temperatures of your hands
are settled with small degree bumps.
if they are not circling around me,
i feel dead.
my immunodeficiency caused by the absence of light
and warmth
is sometimes cured by garlic.
it smells and
it is like having a pineapple substitute
a christmas tree.
not that i am especially religious,
it is just without stories,
life becomes a mere survival.


Heating Off

Can you tell me
When the time is right
To strike
With magic?
Or do you prefer a kiss?

I’ve missed –
A lot.
But there’s no space nor earth for us
When you just turn
Your heaters off.

Don’t run away
In escapades of thorns.
The tenderness is here –
It has moved more.

The fear has no luck.
For you and I –
We weren’t born yesterday,
Cause yesterday just sucks…

There’s something inbetween the days –
For sure.
It is called -rainbow-
And it has no cure!


Stage Zero

Insemination of fatigue ideas
Is outlawed
By the force of my mental pushups.

Whenever I bump into gravity,
I realise
It’s nothing compared to the stars in your mind.

How do I begin tracing the lines
In his eyes?
Does he understand, I’ve already seen paradise?

Well, I’ve seen the bottom, too.
The hope never dies –
And neither will you!


what is my opinion of geopolitics

i wasted about 6 yrs of my life to study at the university. the subject was called international relations. if i’d chosen now, i’d have taken physics or art. much rather, i would have settled out of town, built a house by my own project, made a farm, and played music.

a lot of the time, we were studying nonsensical political theories about how the world should be run, managed, the countries cooperate and all.

having lived and travelled to different places, you pretty much realize that people are the same everywhere. two legs, two hands in most of the cases. a variety of eye, sking, and hair colors tells just a bit about the variety of life in general, the different climates, etc. everyone both drains and enriches you with their experience.

borders are ridiculous and preposturous. so is fight over religion, money and goods. sins are the same – greediness, fear, envy.

stuff is quite simple and life is pretty short.

we are all one fucking family.

lets enjoy the time here, share the planet, and kick off when we’re done.

we like to think how modern we all are. with all the gadgets and cars and airplanes. but the matter of fact is that we are still in deep shit and medieval times with different currencies, languages, borders, visas, and bombs.

praying for a better understanding, the good to succeed, and peace.


learning to write

when i was a little kid, my dad taught me the georgian alphabet. since he’d grown up there and his dad was a mingrelian douche, Janashia by the last name, who’d chased his bastard son of 5 with an axe. his mother had been evacuated from the ukraine during wwii and had completed only 2 yrs of school. we always got kicks of her postcards, cause even at 60,  she was writing like a child.

i mean taught and taught. he used about 7 minutes to draw the letters for me in 2 columns. and voila, that was The alphabet!  i’m not even sure he remembered all of the characters.

it has affected my handwriting at school quite a bit tho. if you know, the georgian letters are very curly (that’s how they spell their own name f.ex. ~ საქართველო) like indian, thai, armenian, or smth?

so when we started learning russian cursive at school, i was like – oh, i know how it’s done! so the cursive got a lot of georgian curls in it. it ‘helped,’ of course, too, that i was left-handed. so i always failed in handwriting at the gay school but got the spelling write most of the time. it was a major catastrophe at home when in 2nd or 3rd grade, i got a 4 and not a 5 (which is the top character) for an essay for spelling ‘winter’ with a wrong vowel (зема and not зима). hate winter, just to be honest.

by the way, i’d already known the type letters by the time. we’d learned them in the last year of our day care. and we weren’t sure really about the dots, i think. cause we knew adults would put them somewehre. so just in case, i’d started putting a dot after each letter. so my name looked like T.О.Л.R. and its not the worst really. cause my hard-of-hearing young sis was writing hers backwards.

once in elementary, my mother found a copy-book where i’d got 2 (the lowest grade) for the cyrillic cursive. she woke me up in the middle of the night, bit the shit out of me and made me write a whole new book with ridiculous syllables like ча-ча-ча and шу-шу-шу (cha-cha-cha, shoo-shoo-shoo) at 3 a.m. !

after a while, just when they stopped grading our handwriting, i stopped writing complete cursive at all, switching to more of a mix of print letters and handwriting. and i’ve beheld some of the curls to this day.