Espresso grinds of grey.

Who didn't tell me that it was going to be a bit cold in Russia? They should buy me a beer in a lit, smokeless US pub on the return to the New World. Not that it is anything past my ability to take, it is actually nothing at all. Takes me to feelings of late November in the Cities.
Metro in the delayed light of the early Russian days sort of captures any sort of interest and disuninternonest which I hold for the country. The selling into the iPod generation was a great, great fucking idea and monotony would take hold far more intensely with the hour long escapades. The masses of people flowing through the system are incredible, and cause feelings of disgust and concurrently a lack of such. Crazy. Every train is stacked and smashed with residents of varying levels of hygeine and appearance, and no acceptance is displayed for the weak. Seriously, MTV and the Real World bit, send all of them through St. Petersburg metro каждый fucking день. I take three transfers in the early hours surrounded with sounds of Miles and John or Moby and Thievery, and iintake the tradeoff of rushing and hanging on the edge, momentum withheld. Although the greatest part is the tunnels, shit. There are these long, white curved tunnels between some of the transfer points where cascades of commuters pick up motion towards the varied ends, and I ride it like a rapid every time. It's sort of like MarioCart, less explosive objects that I can drop for people to trip over and get to the slamming doors of the trains a bit slower, though cutting off and tripping up is the central spark of satisfaction in the experience. In and out and along and aside, sort of a rush. The lights of the previous bomb shelter architectural integrity flash and slash past overhead, as collectivized individuality fights and breaks through the waves of рано direction. Incredible, though the sort that you need a few showers after the experience and feel immesurably more comfortable with intimate airport security encounters.
The skies have clouded again, the espresso is decent. Descent?
Следующий скоро.

Antarct,ic.

An hour in the process, and all replaced with a line of various Russian phrases with an unmitigated strike of a key. Fuck.

Scandinavian tensions, floating through morning masses under Moby and Thievery, the Cold, and the sidelight of the sun to follow in time.

Ещё.

Off of anything необычно.

Sitting in the one US cafe in St. Petersburg, almost feel a bit low for sinking smoothly into the atmosphere though it is the sort of place I would frequent in the States. Across from the US consulate, bit of Miles Davis and a rough Brooklyn owner, and some strong тёмное in a half liter. And not even touching on the free wireless opened up today, the second ever in the city. Top fucking notch, and a sort of weakness I can fit in.
Registered with the US consulate here a few hours previous, actually all within a few blocks of the ostracized university buildings which the ridiculously low level classes are held in. After four separate checks of my documents, partial as my passport is still being processed for my second of a 3-part visa, and a few close experiences in various areas with Russian US consulate guards, I made it through to the area of US State Department employees separated through bulletproof layers of glass and steel from the Marines, still processing the alcohol from the consulate party a few days past. Carries over an intense, seriously intense, excitement for spring and the vibes from such. If I had higher levels of USD and some select personalities from the States around, nothing against some select people on the trip, this would be intensely incredible. Classes are slow so I picked up some Russian book with a great cover, figured out it was written under a Russian pseudonym to avoid government strands and the roubles were flat on the always present plastic changeholder deals. I'll start that off in a few hours, possibly with a Балтика 3 тёмное on the side.
One for the Baltic waves.

Life through a Crowd of Transitory Flows

The techno backbeats spread through the post-Soviet scenes is great for the long, incredibly far distances I have been covering on foot and stacked in place within the Metro. Things are far smoother in this end of Russia from those in Kiev. The contrast pervades everything, but in a less powerful and more Baltic sort of air. The atmosphere is rough, and the people fall within the same sort of expanse. Again there is the other end of things and incredibly high possibility of the other end, though that isn't something to expect.
The apartment which I am in takes the crumbling 5-foot Soviet expanse in Ukraine down with no comparison. The apartment is close to the centre, a bit underkept though the Russian language lacks the words 'fun' and 'maintenance'. The other people in the apartment are high on travelling, I just met the hostess yesterday as she and her husband were in Germany for a wedding in a castle. The 27 year old daughter and her 5 year old half-Egyptian girl have been living in the place with me, decent English and a bit of class.
Dealings with foreigners are still incredibly closed from attempts to hold Russian cultural cohesion. The reach of the West is visible everywhere in the stores, особенно in the smart part of the city I am in, but the force of it is restrained. The first run I took on metro, I was roughed up by militzia for my passport and a lengthy fucking рассказ on my presence out of the States.
Few things are possible for foreigners without a passport or the copy of such and my visa I have now while it is being processed for my long term visa. The Russian culture is the only thing available to people, anything else is legally distanced. Response to Western visa restrictions and such, or just the enigma of Russia lengthening its lack of possibility for definition? The multiculturalism of the city is around every end, though it is covered through layers of distrust and straight hostility from some sources. Foreigness is taken in and spread, and feared.
The lights of the city splash over the waves of the canals and the Baltic waters in the West, it is dark and cold, and deeper in fathoms than the extent of expression.
И так.

Скоро и так.

The sky is darkening, and the cold is pressing in. Sort of excited for the full atmospheric resonance of the city complemented with the tossing waves of the Baltic. Settling into the culture was a bit smoother, less constantly distracting this bout. It is progressive in differences from Kiev, and any emerging connections are usually Soviet based. Everything is старый, a few сто лет. Complexity. Intensity.

Всё сейчас, всё скоро. Это же просто так.

Ну, так.
Things are resounding incredibly, immersing into the north of Russia and everything such. The clouds which press inland from the Baltic are of a type only possible over a sea. The air is fresh, the people speak solid Russian, everything contrives in contrast, and drinking Балтика 3 Тёмное is fucking smooth.
Half of the week after flying into LED я проводил в Репино на береге Балтика. First words with some of the people in the group inspired some alternate of great feelings, most of them are shallow tools. Deeper into the group, around 50 something, and there are a few of those which provide some great feelings to cover the loss and then some to float. Exchanged some cash into roubles, the rate has sort of thrown me into disarray with the currency. It is complex, 27 some roubles to fill each dollar, and inflation has thrown prices into some completely distraught level of randominity. Most things are over 100 roubles. and pulling cash out of ATMs is dealt mostly in thousands. Intense.
My квартира lies blocks from the center, and I am assuredly pre-Soviet. Contrasts emitting into my stretched eyes are mostly dealing with the Eastern Europeanity of Kiev striking against the красивая, intensely Russian and Westernish Санкт-Петербург blurring into focus.
Finland appeared from some sea fog over the Bay of Finland, and the shrouded scenes were drawn into focus with 4 люди, the waves the wind and some пиво. Всего пока.