The Blog

"Everything will be all right, handsome, not at once though, gimme your hand, I’ll teach you all what’s to be done…"

"What was there I know, what is to come I don’t want to know. How about singing a song, Crisp-Curls?."

The backing chorus, at sea for absence of conducting signs from their coryphaeus, stumbles in their beef-about part, while she stays obviously stunned and dazed as if smitten by his clue, the half-forgotten keyword from the times at the dawn of her career but it suddenly sounded here, not eye-to-eye but in presence of the entire audience…

"The house’s sold today! Debates of the applicants to the position of the Resident in Indiscernible (Almost) Saturn! During the intermission, The Jolly Guys-Gagays-2 band perform their hottest hits! Soft drinks sale at 5.12 % discount! Only here! Just this only time!"

"Maybe you know but not all, handsome, though wildly will to know, huh?"

"Well, well, let’s cut out, honey, the useless polemics in the like effing sort of approach, and consider the issue from the standpoint of distilled experimentalism."

His hand dives in the blue depths of the double breast in his not fully buttoned frock coat to reappear balled and mysterious, with the glib skill of a professional pearl diver.

Esma’s eye instinctively blinked at his other hand to check if the wide-blade knife for shell-cracking is still there. Nope. And not a single hair in his beard got drenched. Some shifty bastard!

The magician’s fingers moved to bloom snakily out, slow like the long petals of a sea anemone actinia. Smack-bang in the middle of the palm of the voracious predator, a kinda lure in the set up trap, flashed a silver circle.

"Piastres! Piastres!" Without any rehearsal screamed the back-up chorus in unison. With a noteworthy burr as if at the casting for the Lenin In The Leap Year flick.

"Dong-dong, darling! An unalloyed piece of eight! The prize to them who unprepared guesses my name."

"Ptooey!" spat the clairvoyant in disgust. "Looting the drowned!"

Yet, he was quick to withdraw his moccasin of possum skin, obviously handmade, with a buckle of also Spanish silver before the monetary reform of 1497.

"None of us, fair lady, is without flaws, as was postulated in the original work by Mr. Charles Darwin and stays prominently backed and confirmed by steady gross income of suppliers of banana related products, currently."

Shrill whistles of Gypsy kids in the bleachers, booing, ejaculations “enough of fucking confab!”, “give us a zap!”

The Unseizable Revengers carry out the assembly of a machine gun Maxim on their cart. Post-haste.

Yashka Tsigankov uncivilly unharnesses from out the cart's shafts the horses, completely fucked up, who drop dead at once.

The Colosseum stage workers drag the animals away, by the tails in their grabs, along the sand in the arena, crooning under their Roman noses, “You’re sweet as the horseweed from Canada…”, for the solidarity’s sake.

Lech Valenca, movie director Keosaian (not from Hollywood yet), and Levantine usurers…

However, back to the epicenter!

"Touching allowed?"

"Be my guest, Carmen Pansovna, but within the limits of 12+, I do not need to be rubbed off by hands of the Chechnya archimandrites."

The carelessly polished nails served the pincer to lift the coin off the crossroads of the Line of Fate and the Cross Mystique responsible for the cleverness (who’s, as always, on fucking AWOL), it gets rubbed against the above-mentioned shawl’s corner (knitted in the village of Melenky before its incorporation into the Pavlov Posad conglomeration), bitten with chippy plastic in the false jaws after which action Esma clearly wanted to spit, however, held it back and swallowed, for the sake of appropriateness and decency in manners.

There followed a short pause, which period she stood with her tongue stuck out to the utmost, its tip almost vibrating from the strain, the trade-mark of aspiring stand-up comedians in a desperate endeavor to win the public’s sympathy by demonstrating the surest way to eat thru to the show business by means of Russian cunnilingus, and (her eyes half-closed) listening to something heard only by her, she nodded her head and repeated ‘ohoo!’, ‘even so?’ and suchlike nonsense, but at last exhausted the stock of psychotropic tricks in her fucking passive aggression and—breaking the deafening silence of the audience frozen in anticipation—she dealt the final pu?alada of Jose from the opera by Bizet:

"Kenty’s a fool! Kenty’s a fool!" (Without any burr traceable).

Her opponent went groggy after that brief but too overwhelming series:

"Yok!" eructed he from the depth of his very spleen. "The prize is yours – take it."

"Honest deals are my soft spot!" commented the eager matadoress wrapping her trophy tight, as well as the title of the World Champion, in that same shawl, but this time it was another corner, produced in the village of Usovo of the same and also mentioned Pavlov Posad conglomeration.

Midst the whirling twists and enthusiastic hops of her loyal fans and juvenile hands, she leaves the ring while the fucked up… ahem!. that is, stunned and effed up opponent, forgotten already even by his seconds, leans his ass against the wall he was pressing with his hands so recently if not with some other part in his anatomy…

"Yep! Ladies an' Gentlemen! Even in our over-advanced world, Experience still splashes the brains out of Upstart Aficionados! Overtly and straight from the shoulder!

See you at upcoming confluxes in the outflows of ectoplasm! For you commented Vasyok de Vasuky! Sign up for our channel!"

Sounds of a hasty trot grew nearer. A black-haired kid ran up to the lonely figure leaned groggily against the wall.

A small hand in a long-standing need of a good wash-and-rub pulled the wide pant leg above his curly head.

"Unclie, eh?" and, turning his face up to the not yet quite there stare of the routed, reported:

"Esma told to say you that Maya waits, don’t waste time or you’ll get it!"

His jaw began to move like Peccy’s valve, not up though but down, after the running away, in the bossa nova rhythm,—hop-and-hop yep, hop-and-hop yep…

Ah, por que estou t?o sozinho?.

–errand-boy…

* * *

Bottle #21: ~ East is a Dang Subtle Matter ~

Comrade Geidar Aliev was being trained and shaped into the taker-over after Leonid Ilych Brezhnev, persistently, in earnest. You could see it with both of your eyes shut.

Firstly, over and over again from the high rostrum of the Party Congresses, Azerbaijan was trumpeted The Most Blooming Republic of the USSR and Leonid Ilych developed a habit (overlapping to an addiction) of visiting that bloom, and never was he to come back without this or that nice souvenir.

That might be a scimitar flashing gems of precious nature or a finger ring promoting the right political context (blood red ruby in the center surrounded by 15 diamonds – the shining personification of 15 Republics in the USSR) the trinket’s value equivalent to 22+ vehicles “Volga” of the latest make by the state authorized price, no tips under the counter.

Yep, cunning East did discover the soft spot of comrade General Secretary, his tender attitude to shiny objects. Wise East did not miss to guess what those four (or five?) Gold Medals of the Hero of the Soviet Union on the leader’s coat were hinting at glaringly enough.

Besides, comrade Geidar Alirzaevich could proudly report (and he did it) to his superiors in Moscow that in the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Azerbaijan they gave up pocketing bribes (8 of 11 from the CC Members had to be replaced and the remaining 3 prudently pulled up the undesirable practices, notwithstanding their kinship with the First Secretary).

He deposed all of the corrupt managers starting with ministers and down to kolkhoz foremen, which vacant positions were put up for a garage sale.

The population of the Republic knew the price list by heart – how much was the position of a minister or the title of doctor of science, the job of the head of a clinic, and so on along the hierarchy lines.

My mistake in 1987 was to arrive in Baku in a naive hope of getting the job of a construction worker (they would scramble for a bricklayer of the 4th category!) and not a kopeck in my pocket.

Quite naturally, at employment offices they informed me there was no foreseeable demand for my specialty and kept winking at each other, waiting.

But had they given me a job, everything could turn different too, and this war I’d consider from a contrastingly opposite angle, say, from Mardakian Settlement on the Caspian sea shore.