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Films

what answers does a city give if you enter into dialogue with it?

what can you say to the city about yourself by drinking black tea with it?

how to become so quiet as to see the movement of history, and invite this movement to become dance in tandem with the present?

how does wildlife appear in the middle of the metropolis?

why do all these dances exist?

Sunrise is the same lighthouse

(edited)

***

Другие времена.

Другие времена сейчас,
И те же.
Чуть легче телу и голове.
Любовь виднее в покое и свежести.
Внутри и во вне.
Виднее друг другу
Таких же, как ты 
Без взгляда хищника и убийцы.
Кто понимает, где он , а где ты,
Где есть общий мир и какие границы.
История есть,
Но повторы иные.
Не точка в точку
И след в след.
Когда чувствуешь новые силы,
Есть шанс перемахнуть 
И этот запрет.
Которого нет ...
 
 
 
 
 
***

***

Other times.

Other times appear now,

And similarly.

A little less heavy than the body and mind.

Love is more apparent in peace.

Inside, outside.

More apparent to each other

The same as you

Without the look of a predatory killer.

Who knows where it is and where you are.

Where is the normal world and

Where are the boundaries.

There is an old story,

Each time different

Not beginning to end.

Tracks within tracks.

When strength returns,

We can leap

Over what is banned.

So it is not ...

 

***

Immortal memory

***

Open your eyes to your beauty.
Open your eyes to your beauty.
Magnificent waterfall !
Majestic ridges of mountains ...
Modest pine fingers on the edge of a cliff.
Kiss your unique beauty
In a crisp white snowfall or
With a grasshopper's eccentric jumps
Between hope, being and belief.
Embrace  yourself  fully
All your shapes and strangenesses
Other than this element of evasive doubt,
Which gives dryness to beauty
Like peas scattered from their pod.
Dance on the lake of your beauty,
In secret places hidden and bleeding.
Self-acceptance, peace and healing,
Than magical promises 
and instructions from all scientists.
Just love.
 
***

Purple pulse of deep indigo

( editing )

***

Plastic soul.

Fantastic time,
Fascination with likes in Instagram.
Fanatical crime
Against a real warm handshake
Between the bravest heart drums.
Feelings is a life,
For plastic soul - it's a death knife.
Feel deeper, than now.
No need falling so much to down,
Maybe just cry and relief ...
Full of plastic
Fertility of the world sleeps.
Felicita is coming,
When  sheep are sheep
And people are people, without artificial king.
***

Flashes. Voices.

***

Если бы я не была хорошей такой,

Всем приятной, красивой и позитивной,

Какую бы форму тогда приняла моя тень?

Без сознания отмахивания конвульсивным...

 

Однозначно бескрайнее чёрное,

Перчёное, перетекающе мягко - острое.

Где крыло проявляется мощное,

И чёрные перья блестят отражённо.

 

Беда- небеда, счастье - несчастье,

Радость и горе, боль и раздолье,

Махнет - и не важно,

Ни то , ни другое.

Только на землю успей навзничь,

Согреваясь ее дыханьем и любуясь

Черной фантасмагорией.

Сон ли ... не сон?

И только один шанс лететь в унисон с этими крыльями

***

***

If I weren’t so good,

So easy-going, pretty and positive.

What shape would my shadow take?

Would it be convolsing?

 

Would it be black?

Like a peppercorn? Would it be sharp?

Would it have strong wings?

And black feathers, my reflection.

 

Misfortune comes in many shapes and sizes,

It can be the opposite of what it’s said to be.

Waving doesn’t help...

What does?

Back on the ground.

She warms herself with her breath and admires.

A phantasmagoria.

Sleep is ... but a dream.

And the only way I may fly with these wings...

***

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