Some takes from Eesti.
14 November 2006
11 November 2006
Reaching in with the outt of onn in Eesti.
Focusing and shifting shades of reconsciousness in time with Eesti electro vibes from the radio cause the comforting gray skies to shine in ecstisity. This is a place where I can be.
After drawn out unsuspected? battles with the Russian transportation system, I let off the plans for circling around starting in Helsinki for this break we are on now. I'll elaborate more on that in another post, one where I am fully indulging in the Russian tragicissity again under that sort of martial law. Now, here, is Tallinn and only thoughts and expressions of such.
This is the first time I have spent in a hostel, and from words passed around I hear that the ones here in Eesti trample most other definitions of the like. The one I am lounging and living in is completely revamped, few offs like a broken sink and loud doors, but the price in krona is low and the people are great, and, a sauna?! Coming in in the late afternoon with the new shifting faces settling in and residing ones comfortable under the glow of VH1 Euro 80's hours just presents the full amalgation of imaging that engulfs you in the space. I had a few Estonian Saku darks and some hardcore 10% beer in another hostel sort of party last night, that one was greatly larger and more of the party type, great to go to and then return. Great to spin through the winding, rising and falling medieval cobblestones and courtyard walls in the lit, sharp night Baltic air in transition between the spaces.
The chilled out sort of strut through life that carries the scarf clad faces of Eesti through those streets only makes a sharper definition between This and the Russian East. Lack of any smile, hostile emotion showed if any, drunken brawling in the streets, and shifty out of place interaction is a strikingly harsh sign of most Russians in the city, taking a few days out of spending roubles on Russian vodka to somehow landing a visa and spreading their flavour of havoc around the peoples and hills on this shore. Again pause off of that, I feel myself pushed to find and voice that negation too often of late. There are, and have to be a selection of the population of Russians that are contrary to such, it is just incredibly tiring experiencing it as a possible majority and standard of that population. There are some negatives to the Eesti, there are in every culture and peoples. These seem to fade with the tolerance showed however, and the positive of direction and action which follows from Eesti.
The constant thick fall is invigorating. The strong winds from the sea inspiring. Kohvi and stressed first syllables intensifying. The waves setting a rhythm of sponse and response.
Eesti electro is going to make shambles of the krona in my hands, check out kohviradio.com for lines to lay over studies or papers or cartographing or whatever is taking the tone of your concentration.
So off for a bit to balance the city walls, breathe in the swirling such. Palun.
After drawn out unsuspected? battles with the Russian transportation system, I let off the plans for circling around starting in Helsinki for this break we are on now. I'll elaborate more on that in another post, one where I am fully indulging in the Russian tragicissity again under that sort of martial law. Now, here, is Tallinn and only thoughts and expressions of such.
This is the first time I have spent in a hostel, and from words passed around I hear that the ones here in Eesti trample most other definitions of the like. The one I am lounging and living in is completely revamped, few offs like a broken sink and loud doors, but the price in krona is low and the people are great, and, a sauna?! Coming in in the late afternoon with the new shifting faces settling in and residing ones comfortable under the glow of VH1 Euro 80's hours just presents the full amalgation of imaging that engulfs you in the space. I had a few Estonian Saku darks and some hardcore 10% beer in another hostel sort of party last night, that one was greatly larger and more of the party type, great to go to and then return. Great to spin through the winding, rising and falling medieval cobblestones and courtyard walls in the lit, sharp night Baltic air in transition between the spaces.
The chilled out sort of strut through life that carries the scarf clad faces of Eesti through those streets only makes a sharper definition between This and the Russian East. Lack of any smile, hostile emotion showed if any, drunken brawling in the streets, and shifty out of place interaction is a strikingly harsh sign of most Russians in the city, taking a few days out of spending roubles on Russian vodka to somehow landing a visa and spreading their flavour of havoc around the peoples and hills on this shore. Again pause off of that, I feel myself pushed to find and voice that negation too often of late. There are, and have to be a selection of the population of Russians that are contrary to such, it is just incredibly tiring experiencing it as a possible majority and standard of that population. There are some negatives to the Eesti, there are in every culture and peoples. These seem to fade with the tolerance showed however, and the positive of direction and action which follows from Eesti.
The constant thick fall is invigorating. The strong winds from the sea inspiring. Kohvi and stressed first syllables intensifying. The waves setting a rhythm of sponse and response.
Eesti electro is going to make shambles of the krona in my hands, check out kohviradio.com for lines to lay over studies or papers or cartographing or whatever is taking the tone of your concentration.
So off for a bit to balance the city walls, breathe in the swirling such. Palun.
04 November 2006
18 October 2006
Awake, asleep.
Europe. I haven't fully informed myself if the sort of ecstatic state I resided in last weekend was from mounted showerheads, Euro espresso, clean streets, maintained buildings, facial expressions, multiple languages, personalities, smooth roads, cars that stopped in crosswalks even with more emphasis than in the States, or a lack of being in Russian. Tallinn is a city I could live in. It would be fucking incredible to carry out the rest of the program in Estonia, and I sort of wanted to misplace the Russian visa for a few months. Border controls took a bit, there is a stamp out of Russia and another into the EU, and the two bits of ink took around 3 hours. The price of a steady standing and a smooth skyline. The drive in resembled a sort of Scandinavian Ireland, the ruins of castles and such in the shape of Soviet retreat. The difference is striking between the ageing monuments to suppression in the two countries It still comprises some sort of life in Russia, on the last shakes and unending. The few Soviet ruins, ruins and not buildings, flashing past the bus did not grind at the eyes as in the daily encounters in SP. Everything about the ruins seemed almost maintained, a reminder instead of the desolate crumbling masses spilling over the Russian soil. Nothing was forgotten, only held in the past to allow the years to do the washing away of its traces. There are other Soviet sort of ruins along the road, though tragic ones, signs of strain felt under the system. Structures which were comfortable and alive, then probably caused to disappear of any activity through purges and control. Held.
Tallinn encompasses everything that is possible of Baltic Europe. Scandinavian in ways, though infused with its own elements and Balticness. I am going to take on speaking Estonian. The language sounds a bit Scando, emphasizing the first end of every word and creating unending strings of characters with dots and õ over them, all creating a sudden lack of lefsa. Some of the words are transposed Russian or Slavic, though few. The language is sort of the same as Magyar, no solid connection to anything else. Then there are the 14 fucking cases of every word. I'm still taking it on. Estonia and Russia sort of seem to resemble a cute, intelligent and witty Baltic girl and the dirty sort of creepy husky guy at the bar trying to get a bit closer and intimate than either end really need.
Russia carries on reaching and justifying its influence and the subordination in response to such. Given the Baltic states made the smoothest and speediest transitions to EU standards following release from the clutching grasp of the Soviet structure, and most explain such as the inherent Europeaness of its people. The other post-Soviet republics are possibly the same, the constant pull of multiple identities sometimes with an underlying, residing identity comprised of these other varying elements. These characteristics seem to key Russians off to a sort of right to the qualities, a bit ironic in what is a pirate cove of DVDs and music. Seriously, you can purchase 8 or 12 films on one DVD, and all with horrible Russian dubbing which is inseparable from the original language. Elements of cultural travel to Russians are not only a few words or ways of taking alcohol that can be passed off, they take on an unspoken cycle of domination and acceptance in the Russian view. These bits of Slavic culture have a significant sort of tax stamp which should be collected, even as those on the other side of the 'deal' have moved on and looked inward if they ever realized and took in the elusive agreement itself.
The drive is around 6 hours, including the strenuinity at the border. There are no Russian-Estonian books around these parts, and few have ever seen the country. Visas are a bit difficult and when Russians obtain these, it is evident on the streets of Tallinn and in the stores selling the vodka. Most of the population in Estonia no longer even speaks Russian, and the number of Eesti speakers around SP are probably lower than the number of decent places to get salads and Pumpkin Spice Lattes, nonfat 5 pump PS .5 pump cinnamon 4 shot light whip with a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg sprinkled on the top. Think about that for a bit.
As it always is, I'll stream off some other bits in time. Sharpish if I land some tickets to Eesti or Vilinus this weekend, set myself in a bit of calm and raise a collar to the Baltic sky. The government flying fast to a few people for the clearance and such, cheers Jancsi!, fly off in conversationon me as you want just hold back if they call you comrade with a thick Russian accent and reference this post between shots.
For this, a rise of a mug of trance.en. Jah, hoian end poliitiliste arengutega kursis.
See sobib mulle hästi.
Tallinn encompasses everything that is possible of Baltic Europe. Scandinavian in ways, though infused with its own elements and Balticness. I am going to take on speaking Estonian. The language sounds a bit Scando, emphasizing the first end of every word and creating unending strings of characters with dots and õ over them, all creating a sudden lack of lefsa. Some of the words are transposed Russian or Slavic, though few. The language is sort of the same as Magyar, no solid connection to anything else. Then there are the 14 fucking cases of every word. I'm still taking it on. Estonia and Russia sort of seem to resemble a cute, intelligent and witty Baltic girl and the dirty sort of creepy husky guy at the bar trying to get a bit closer and intimate than either end really need.
Russia carries on reaching and justifying its influence and the subordination in response to such. Given the Baltic states made the smoothest and speediest transitions to EU standards following release from the clutching grasp of the Soviet structure, and most explain such as the inherent Europeaness of its people. The other post-Soviet republics are possibly the same, the constant pull of multiple identities sometimes with an underlying, residing identity comprised of these other varying elements. These characteristics seem to key Russians off to a sort of right to the qualities, a bit ironic in what is a pirate cove of DVDs and music. Seriously, you can purchase 8 or 12 films on one DVD, and all with horrible Russian dubbing which is inseparable from the original language. Elements of cultural travel to Russians are not only a few words or ways of taking alcohol that can be passed off, they take on an unspoken cycle of domination and acceptance in the Russian view. These bits of Slavic culture have a significant sort of tax stamp which should be collected, even as those on the other side of the 'deal' have moved on and looked inward if they ever realized and took in the elusive agreement itself.
The drive is around 6 hours, including the strenuinity at the border. There are no Russian-Estonian books around these parts, and few have ever seen the country. Visas are a bit difficult and when Russians obtain these, it is evident on the streets of Tallinn and in the stores selling the vodka. Most of the population in Estonia no longer even speaks Russian, and the number of Eesti speakers around SP are probably lower than the number of decent places to get salads and Pumpkin Spice Lattes, nonfat 5 pump PS .5 pump cinnamon 4 shot light whip with a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg sprinkled on the top. Think about that for a bit.
As it always is, I'll stream off some other bits in time. Sharpish if I land some tickets to Eesti or Vilinus this weekend, set myself in a bit of calm and raise a collar to the Baltic sky. The government flying fast to a few people for the clearance and such, cheers Jancsi!, fly off in conversationon me as you want just hold back if they call you comrade with a thick Russian accent and reference this post between shots.
For this, a rise of a mug of trance.en. Jah, hoian end poliitiliste arengutega kursis.
See sobib mulle hästi.
30 September 2006
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.
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.
25 September 2006
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.
11 September 2006
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.
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.
09 September 2006
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.
05 September 2006
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.
02 September 2006
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.
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.
17 July 2006
11 July 2006
Dispersed into the Fray and Such Trifles
The skies have grayed, again, after an extened lack of lack of colour. It is calming to me, not in any way that clear skies do not allow a reduced frenetic state of my consciousness but it allows things to be just, так. Bit of a lapse in posts in a while, in part from my again frenz.ied working and non-working blocs of time composing the days, in part that there aren't as many inspiring experiences rivalling those possible across borders of culture and of comfort. Summer has again become the mundane.I have just felt a bit unsettled, really. When conversing with people I don't feel like launching into talk of work as it dominates an absurd proportion of my waking hours already. Recalling the constant fresh perspectives in Украина when not around Andy or Lindsay seems to drag on most, it becomes repetitive in setting and most people have no way to really relate to it. Aside of such points, I have the levelly unrelated and ominous embarking to Санкт-Петербург to apprehensively shine within, and such talk is mostly a strained expression of that apprehension at the full immersion into Eastern Europe. I will be без passport for the first month after I land in Россия, as the application for a extended multiple-entry visa requires the Russian Federation playing футбол with my official US documents for a bit and there isn't even any chance of me throwing any head butts or red cards at them. It is probably a solid disopportunity to not be in posession of my passport for a bit though, as in one end of things I will only be allowed a single-entry visa for the first month and the possibility, as low as it seems in sobriety, of a non soberous personal excursion around the Baltics relying on bribes or self-constructed seagoing vessels to pass through international lines remains a possibility. Digressing, the expanse of Russia accessible without my passport once I am within the borders should be overfilling for at least that month.
The afore lines show exactly the point I started off on before I lost and refound and then misplaced, or something of the sort, and if anyone is even lacking in anything else to do and reading this is probably making sleep, or any other activity seem a Strong Alternative to Such. So conversations or monologues resort to the mundane. As if it is something to resort unto.
Unsettled. Who needs a drink. Things are sort of right, and at the same instance not so. I am listening to a resounding amount of electro, now transitioning into much Radiohead and Apparat. I have been absorbing Waking Life. I have watched French movies on emotion and searched for a tango track to sound through my days. Всё это же так, а не так. I am holding a sea weathered eye to the horizon.
26 June 2006
On the Smoke Throughout Fire in the Skies
So. I just проводил close to the entire day wakeboarding, wakesurfing, and importing an intense amount of sun that time in coordination with an espresso bar fails to provide, it was sort of incredible. I feel as on a constant expanse of rising and falling waves, and it is fucking great. I really miss that feeling, when I worked as a camp counselor and misled youth on 5 day, 52 mile canoe trips with no external contact down the Namekagon I would fall asleep каждый night
feeling a rise and fall continuous. This entire weekend has been great, a solid turn from the monotonous expanse of the 'Buck and the shifting issues surrounding. Last night was a brilliant time at Ian and Birgit's, and Mette's I should include, a round of Settlers of Catan, few shots of перцева, and a French movie titled 'Le Haine'. Black on white movies with white subtitles are a strenuous combination to fall short of description, although the resounding French grip on film production is unendingly present and the film is really great. Day following out on some lake around the Cities on an incredible boat with a stand for wakeboarding and wakesurfing, and I am shot. Circle the sharks ensue. The take surrounding this post is a shot from the Metro in Україне, around the transfer station onto the зельёный line at the Хрещатик station. Follow a lapse in active consciousness.
Давай.
13 June 2006
Dusk Logging and Carpathian Intricacies
Standing is a great effort, I don't think that I fully informed myself why I am even embarking on expressing myself in a post сейчас. The firm stamp of summer as usual comes across in the dialectic of frenzied work at the 'Buck, or the blank possibility of inactivity which usually ends out in mulling around the apartment squeezing door hinges apprehensively at the next run of shifts. The last few 32 something hours were dominated with a solid 24 of servitude shelling out various coffee related beverages and shaking my fist at the bank that Starbucks runs through, unable to enact the skills necessary to count out exact rolls of change. The пиво on my left side is taking its part in counteracting these frays of ineffectivity.
Tomorrow is off of corporate responsibility, and a solid morning of unaided unconsciousness should smooth out the final ticks left in jet lag. Opening the last few days at work sort of set me back in the process, the time waking up to douse myself in a shower and amble over to the East Bank in the early air rounded out to around noon in Україна. Sort of a reprieve to the readjustment in time structures, I'll figure out if it misled the body in a few hours. Probably hit up Mapps in the hours after waking and hand off the map I picked up for them in Eastern Europe. Sort of жалко to part with it, it's a topographic and political map of entire Україна and shows the edges and topography of corners of the surrounding states. Still have a map that I recieved in Kiyv of the city, I'm tossing around the prospect of defacing it to ensure recalling the inebriatedly influenced places and 4am excursions. Trace the walk from some streets in the centre to our apartments some 5 metro stations away I took with Andy one night without enough grivna to even land a beer, cheaper than water or most other beverages, for the distance. When we were trying to orient ourselves at the start of the fucking journey we stumbled onto a massive lighted map of the city around the centre. Had to sit and split out some tragic laughs, as our location well into the centre of the few metre map was a distraught distance from the target of the run we were to take, a bit off of the map. The start of any solid night in Eastern Europe!
Failed Orange coalition talks still can't hold back another pint and a viewing of Huckabees. Although it seems to top down throwing more pictures onto the post. Без blurred Metro shots and a darkened, pedestrian filled 8 laned Sunday Хрещатик. It's all from Timoshenko.
Tomorrow is off of corporate responsibility, and a solid morning of unaided unconsciousness should smooth out the final ticks left in jet lag. Opening the last few days at work sort of set me back in the process, the time waking up to douse myself in a shower and amble over to the East Bank in the early air rounded out to around noon in Україна. Sort of a reprieve to the readjustment in time structures, I'll figure out if it misled the body in a few hours. Probably hit up Mapps in the hours after waking and hand off the map I picked up for them in Eastern Europe. Sort of жалко to part with it, it's a topographic and political map of entire Україна and shows the edges and topography of corners of the surrounding states. Still have a map that I recieved in Kiyv of the city, I'm tossing around the prospect of defacing it to ensure recalling the inebriatedly influenced places and 4am excursions. Trace the walk from some streets in the centre to our apartments some 5 metro stations away I took with Andy one night without enough grivna to even land a beer, cheaper than water or most other beverages, for the distance. When we were trying to orient ourselves at the start of the fucking journey we stumbled onto a massive lighted map of the city around the centre. Had to sit and split out some tragic laughs, as our location well into the centre of the few metre map was a distraught distance from the target of the run we were to take, a bit off of the map. The start of any solid night in Eastern Europe!
Failed Orange coalition talks still can't hold back another pint and a viewing of Huckabees. Although it seems to top down throwing more pictures onto the post. Без blurred Metro shots and a darkened, pedestrian filled 8 laned Sunday Хрещатик. It's all from Timoshenko.
08 June 2006
Nationalist Hackey Sacking for Lenin.
The thing to load pictures on the blog is taking a break from hassling me in the process, here are a few more. The first inspired the title of my last post, the Arc of friendship between Soviet Russia and Ukraine, few blocks down from the Ukrainian monument to independence in Independence square. The blindingly colourful dedication to the Soviet workers and producers is celebrated by the next generation of such, responding to the Soviet era with the best of capitalism.
Ukrainian contrast in any direction possible, fucking incredible.
This take is from a bridge in Маринский парк, the enitre structure is filled with writing to stake the flailing love between couples and tied with bits of cloth and string for the same. Random public populative art, sex, struggle, and alcohol!
Some crumbling pre-Soviet architecture. Takes its place in line with the crumbling Soviet architecture.
The Ukrainian struggle for and with itself and Europe, all raised on a Soviet monument. For the people? Direction of those bits of thoughts are a bit distant for my conscious state after the first shift back in the coffee shop corporate hijacking of my economic state. Lagging of jets is fucking imminent.За всё!
07 June 2006
On Dusk and the Soviet Colours, or 400 Takes on Gray and Red on Colourless Tiles.
So dealing with the joyality, spectacicus of jet lag the second time around isn't as smooth as the previous. There were so many things to rest my eyelids from blinking as much after landing in Ukraine that the time shift took a second stand to anything else possible, back in the cities it is a faster transition to the usual and few things to spark any sort of excitement and hold myself fully conscious. Almost makes it seem full consciousness is only possible if everything in the most outward seeping sense of the concept is in a perspective inherently aside from what you are most adjusted toward. Few extended months in Kiev, a trip to the Shetlands for a bit and then a return would probably land me in the same sort of state as I am now, just with a more accessible source of alcoholic counters to the experience.
The transatlantic trip from Amsterdam to MSP was the best from any of the other flights, and wasn't really any competition for the outward to Amsterdam run as the plane was a fucking pensioner of Boeings and even lacked individual seat belt signs. This flight wasn't just a kick up from the prospect of Western culture again, although possibly that is true as one of the sweetest parts of the 8 something hour dragging out of a 13 hour morning for us was the individual screens in the back of each seat. Movies and an actual semi decent NWA music selection! The movies were all mid range for enjoyment, with the stark exception of Peter Jackson's latest reel of shit which would have sent me into utilizing the ever present fold-down bag in the seat pocket in front of me, wedged between the untold wonders of duty-free capitalism and diagrams of pacific passengers fitting their oxygen masks to the most comfortable form for their 90 degree descent. I sort of want to find out if there was ever a specific event that triggered the usual command of 'make sure to adjust your own mask before assisting others' that caused the commonality of the demand. So before everyone else died the two had an argument over the mask situation and pissed off enough of the other passengers to complain post mortem? Someone lodged a legal battle against the airline over someone else risking themselves over the safety of someone else struggling to suck down some straight oxygen and soothe their nerves for a ride in a rubber boat with their seat cushions?
Digressing, the music selection was decent in parts and you can set up a playlist of a few 40 songs while throwing back some high altitude beverages. One of the Euro sets had some Royksopp and Sigur Ros, which were sweet for the pass over Greenland. I scored a window seat next to Jenny and when I intermittantly cracked open the shade to the unending 8 hours of blinding morning light, there were a few decent airscapes. Airscapes? If I have ever tried conjuring up an image of what Greenland looks like before, it would probably be around what the bits I spotted through clouds came out to represent. True that there isn't really anything around the barren, cartographically manipulated stretch of rocks, but it would be sweet to frolick around in sometime. Iceland was all under clouds and the flight only toppled over the tip, so some of Greenland was a decent compromise along to Scandinavian vibes.
Every interaction I have the last day I have to hold back an, 'эти, пожалуйста' or a 'нет, спасибо' from setting everything into Russian the last three weeks, and it slips out every few phrases. Figure that approaching semi fluency will have a grand scale of up-sides and the few turns into a usually distant language could be a smooth way to opt out of conversations with people who don't know my national backgrounds and who I would want to disperse from a language barrier. Most of the fresh words I picked up in Україна and am able to remember are all slang, and most deal with drinking, figure that one out yourself. Eskimos have a thousand words for snow, Ukrainians and Russians have threeve million for drinking and the state of not so sober.
Loaded up the Nalgene and set out to take on the first bit of Huntington today after I landed a new phone charger for 25 fucking USD as my usual one didn't take the plane ride from US to Kiev in the exact way I expected. I probably could have picked up a cheaper one in Amsterdam, even priced in Euro. Again trailing back to my struggling line of thought, I'm sort of excited to dive into the Clash of Civilizations. That excitement isn't a struggle, as the prospect of hours working this summer are bleaker than a Frenchman ordering cognac in the Kashtan bar around Шулявска station in western Kiev, and a decent amount of time is going to be spent on undirected academia. Grad school on the horizon? Fuck.
The lack in imminent random experiences in a familiar culture where the boundaries usually are stable boundaries is flaring up a bit of missing Eastern Europe. I dropped some sort of line about hackey sacking oranges in a Cільно store last time, figure I'll finish out with cutting out the suspense. After watching the Ukrainian junior football leage getting trampled by Netherlands in the non-ventilated sports bar connected to Сільно and a few hours short of our required 3am preparations to kick out to the airport, we figured a last beer to level out the hours before our flight after the few we had in the bar would land well. Needed something to flatten out the smoke in my ventricles anyway, there was enough smoke in the bar that when Andy was finishing off a cig the smoke dropped straight down from the pressure. As it usally plays out in Ukraine, the 24 hour market was partially closed for an hour as the one person working the register was on a spontaneous break. The bottles from Сільно are usually cooler and decently priced so a few of us took the opportunity to ramble around until the register reopened after the ringer probably had a few beers, a pack, and some варенники to slip out of the disillusionment of a retail job paying a few grivna a day. Drunk eyes Jenny tossed around through the oranges for a while before finding the perfect one and after inspecting the raw, probably naturally chemically induced fish from the Dniepr, and restraining urges to have an orange-schooner race in the open fish tank we took randomly to the aisles. Lacking in sobriety from our 25 grivna tabs, Jenny dropped the orange somewhere in the chocolate and tea aisles, around four aisles down from the 4 stretching aisles of wine, cognac, vodka and beer respectively, and one of the Ukrainian Andrei's flipped it up with his foot to start of the match. With all the security around the aisles and their indiferrence or lack of restrictions at the sort, it was a stellar time, and one of the oranges still resides around the teas.
So a few Белі Ноч bottles later it was a bit of a better story, I'll drag some more captivating ones up for other Ukrainian relapse postings. 22 days straight of alcohol intensified cultural experience, as Ukrainian culture is inherently part alcohol constructed, there are a few decent ones in the stock. Narcotic taxi drivers, maybe not so добрый mornings, three weeks in Ukraine provides the possibility for the Crime and Punishment of intoxicated ramblings, and the summer is just breaking in.
Break open the smuggled bottle of Ukrainian vodka with honey and pepper? Topping out at 24 days straight is just reworking the culture, правда?
За всё.
The transatlantic trip from Amsterdam to MSP was the best from any of the other flights, and wasn't really any competition for the outward to Amsterdam run as the plane was a fucking pensioner of Boeings and even lacked individual seat belt signs. This flight wasn't just a kick up from the prospect of Western culture again, although possibly that is true as one of the sweetest parts of the 8 something hour dragging out of a 13 hour morning for us was the individual screens in the back of each seat. Movies and an actual semi decent NWA music selection! The movies were all mid range for enjoyment, with the stark exception of Peter Jackson's latest reel of shit which would have sent me into utilizing the ever present fold-down bag in the seat pocket in front of me, wedged between the untold wonders of duty-free capitalism and diagrams of pacific passengers fitting their oxygen masks to the most comfortable form for their 90 degree descent. I sort of want to find out if there was ever a specific event that triggered the usual command of 'make sure to adjust your own mask before assisting others' that caused the commonality of the demand. So before everyone else died the two had an argument over the mask situation and pissed off enough of the other passengers to complain post mortem? Someone lodged a legal battle against the airline over someone else risking themselves over the safety of someone else struggling to suck down some straight oxygen and soothe their nerves for a ride in a rubber boat with their seat cushions?
Digressing, the music selection was decent in parts and you can set up a playlist of a few 40 songs while throwing back some high altitude beverages. One of the Euro sets had some Royksopp and Sigur Ros, which were sweet for the pass over Greenland. I scored a window seat next to Jenny and when I intermittantly cracked open the shade to the unending 8 hours of blinding morning light, there were a few decent airscapes. Airscapes? If I have ever tried conjuring up an image of what Greenland looks like before, it would probably be around what the bits I spotted through clouds came out to represent. True that there isn't really anything around the barren, cartographically manipulated stretch of rocks, but it would be sweet to frolick around in sometime. Iceland was all under clouds and the flight only toppled over the tip, so some of Greenland was a decent compromise along to Scandinavian vibes.
Every interaction I have the last day I have to hold back an, 'эти, пожалуйста' or a 'нет, спасибо' from setting everything into Russian the last three weeks, and it slips out every few phrases. Figure that approaching semi fluency will have a grand scale of up-sides and the few turns into a usually distant language could be a smooth way to opt out of conversations with people who don't know my national backgrounds and who I would want to disperse from a language barrier. Most of the fresh words I picked up in Україна and am able to remember are all slang, and most deal with drinking, figure that one out yourself. Eskimos have a thousand words for snow, Ukrainians and Russians have threeve million for drinking and the state of not so sober.
Loaded up the Nalgene and set out to take on the first bit of Huntington today after I landed a new phone charger for 25 fucking USD as my usual one didn't take the plane ride from US to Kiev in the exact way I expected. I probably could have picked up a cheaper one in Amsterdam, even priced in Euro. Again trailing back to my struggling line of thought, I'm sort of excited to dive into the Clash of Civilizations. That excitement isn't a struggle, as the prospect of hours working this summer are bleaker than a Frenchman ordering cognac in the Kashtan bar around Шулявска station in western Kiev, and a decent amount of time is going to be spent on undirected academia. Grad school on the horizon? Fuck.
The lack in imminent random experiences in a familiar culture where the boundaries usually are stable boundaries is flaring up a bit of missing Eastern Europe. I dropped some sort of line about hackey sacking oranges in a Cільно store last time, figure I'll finish out with cutting out the suspense. After watching the Ukrainian junior football leage getting trampled by Netherlands in the non-ventilated sports bar connected to Сільно and a few hours short of our required 3am preparations to kick out to the airport, we figured a last beer to level out the hours before our flight after the few we had in the bar would land well. Needed something to flatten out the smoke in my ventricles anyway, there was enough smoke in the bar that when Andy was finishing off a cig the smoke dropped straight down from the pressure. As it usally plays out in Ukraine, the 24 hour market was partially closed for an hour as the one person working the register was on a spontaneous break. The bottles from Сільно are usually cooler and decently priced so a few of us took the opportunity to ramble around until the register reopened after the ringer probably had a few beers, a pack, and some варенники to slip out of the disillusionment of a retail job paying a few grivna a day. Drunk eyes Jenny tossed around through the oranges for a while before finding the perfect one and after inspecting the raw, probably naturally chemically induced fish from the Dniepr, and restraining urges to have an orange-schooner race in the open fish tank we took randomly to the aisles. Lacking in sobriety from our 25 grivna tabs, Jenny dropped the orange somewhere in the chocolate and tea aisles, around four aisles down from the 4 stretching aisles of wine, cognac, vodka and beer respectively, and one of the Ukrainian Andrei's flipped it up with his foot to start of the match. With all the security around the aisles and their indiferrence or lack of restrictions at the sort, it was a stellar time, and one of the oranges still resides around the teas.
So a few Белі Ноч bottles later it was a bit of a better story, I'll drag some more captivating ones up for other Ukrainian relapse postings. 22 days straight of alcohol intensified cultural experience, as Ukrainian culture is inherently part alcohol constructed, there are a few decent ones in the stock. Narcotic taxi drivers, maybe not so добрый mornings, three weeks in Ukraine provides the possibility for the Crime and Punishment of intoxicated ramblings, and the summer is just breaking in.
Break open the smuggled bottle of Ukrainian vodka with honey and pepper? Topping out at 24 days straight is just reworking the culture, правда?
За всё.
05 June 2006
Первая.
Хрещатик and the main square downtown Kiev around Day of Kiev or Europe or some fucking day. Подожди.
The hour divide connecting East and West, and a на встречи to the skies of Украина.
It's intensely messed up to take close to an hour of sleep following a few beers and watching the Netherlands trample Ukraine in the low level smething something футбол, European that is, match, and then break out to Boristopol aeroport to take to the skies out of the one terminal for international flights. The flight took out at 6, приземлились in Amsterdam at 10 something in the Netherlands time zone, then out to an 8 hour flight in a fucking topplingly great transatlantic plane to come down into the Cities at 11.20 Minneapolis time. Some 12 fucking hours and it was still morning.
I'll tap in some shit on Chernobyl, Metro station Cold War weekly dealings, hackey sacking oranges in the Сільно market, and the British accents of Ukrainian Russian speakers shredding through some attempts in English. Precluding all of that shit is the full reimmersion into the unspeakable experience of Western residential infrastructure. За Україну!
I'll tap in some shit on Chernobyl, Metro station Cold War weekly dealings, hackey sacking oranges in the Сільно market, and the British accents of Ukrainian Russian speakers shredding through some attempts in English. Precluding all of that shit is the full reimmersion into the unspeakable experience of Western residential infrastructure. За Україну!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
