Rrrarr (with emphasis)

I don't exactly write openly and addressing the grand population of those Internets on the topic of my personal life or feelings, or whatever they're called. To tell the truth (you're welcome), I'm still working actively on opening up more even to my friends in what concerns such emotional bonanzas (and my apologies – I've been working my way through all seasons of Deadwood recently, and thus, terms similar to "bonanza" and "cocksucker" might surface more frequently in my babblings). That said, take this as a rare largesse.

I'm angry. Feistily angry inside. And not only inside, I suppose, but also displayed through glares more genuine than the usual Northeast-European street expression, and a tightly-clenched jaw. It's injustice that causes the boiling. Injustice in many forms, on numerous levels, injustice both direct and witnessed.  The inability to be able to give a swift, decisive resolution to the many of them. Possibly the most egregious injustice of them all – an inability to set things right. When acceptance of this comes about is another question. I may be Pisces (kalad) nearly across the board, but my Moon (kuu) is in 0 degrees Scorpio. Whatever that means.

One thing does help – a resounding pirate's yarrrr. And the Miles Davis spiraling though the air at the café, where I type this, staring out across the expanse of consumer catalysm and escalating stairways. It'll have to suffice for now.

Bonanza.

Edasi, вперёд (the only way to go)...

In the woodwork.

It's quite a sight to see the gradual creep of Greater Europe into the oddity that is Eesti, regardless of the party accountable for the phenomenon's landing and clearance of customs. These thoughts just spiraling up and around while sipping a new Estonian craft beer (a topic I am sure that I will cover at greater length very, very soon, and under the influence of very, very many of them) while being the lone occupant of a new bar in full Scandinavian-interior-decorating glory, transplanted into the unlikely and titillating context of a former (semi-former?) Soviet industrial complex. Gray bricks, fresh snow and barren trees on the outside, lampshadeless hanging retro bulbs and birch floors on the inside. Seeing as how Estonians claim (rightfully) their right to the fruits of Nordic lineage, the only truly surprising element is the question – how has it taken so long for Scandinavian design and delicious beers to take their own rightful throne here across the gulf from Suomi, and why have "outsiders" been the ultimate bearers of it?


Tradition, I suppose.

Good enough for me.

Edasi, вперёд..

Be as it may.

Walking past a lamppost, one
       shadow
            chases another
for a moment

(fall – sügis  – осень 2012)