Странный мальчик

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:06 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Stratospheric Polar Clouds (Zero Cult Remix)

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

Странный мальчик

Этого странного мальчика
Никогда ничем не удивить.
Скучно? Заманчиво!
И я звоню поговорить.

Долька мандарина в шампанском,
Представляю со всегдашним жеманством:
Весь он в чем-то норвежском,
Весь он в чем-то испанском.

Ведь он хочет того же –
В желаниях все вольны.
Цепи холодного ложа
Разорвать, сбежать из тюрьмы.

07.01.2016

Написано под вдохновением от стихотворения Игоря Северянина «Ананасы в шампанском»

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2016

Свидетельство о публикации №116081309447

Комментарии (0)

Об Олеге

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:05 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Landscape Transmitter

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РћР± РћР»РµРіРµ (700x544, 210Kb)

Я знаю, что он придет –
Герой рассказов и стихов.
Кто мне не верит – идиот.
Ведь слышен звук Его шагов.

Я знаю ритм Его шагов.
Я знаю, как Он постучит.
Я знаю цвет Его цветов.
Я знаю, как Он говорит

И знаю, что он заберет
Меня куда-то в вечность,
В объятьях надолго сожмет
И это будет вечно.

20.06.2014.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114070406150

Комментарии (0)

Предвидение

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:04 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Landscape Transmitter

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РџСЂРµРґРІРёРґРµРЅРёРµ (700x544, 317Kb)

Утопи приветствие в прощанья кубке,
Не тобой сегодня я пьяна.
Режут слух любые звуки,
Моя судьба не решена.

Не тебя воспринимать
Желаю в вечер судьбоносный,
А себя одну ласкать.
О, как это просто!

Не говорить с твоею стороной,
Упреков твоих мечами,
А с тем, кто за твоей спиной
Стоит с двумя огромными свечами,

Теряя воск на коврик рваный
Таким узорчатым рисунком,
Что о будущем и настоящем
Там прочитать в теченьи суток.

Не стой там, позади,
На переднем плане пылай.
Иди же, иди.
Я люблю, хочу тебя, поэт Николай.
30.02.2005.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109082506144

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Смертельный яд

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:03 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Landscape Transmitter

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РЎРјРµСЂС‚РµР»СЊРЅС‹Р№ СЏРґ (700x544, 232Kb)

Смертельный яд кожаной плети
Нестерпимость раскрасит удушья –
Шеи обмотанность сетью.
Души! Так будет лучше.

Иначе сапог черную кожу
Языком, лезвием изрезанным,
Дочиста не вылижу
Способом проверенным.

Больно, больно, очень больно.
Вот бы не кончалась боль!
Высшей боли я достойна.
Вот бы сек поперек и вдоль!
15.03.2011.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111031510385

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Еще одна песнь Идеалу

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:02 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Perception Of Madness

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

Еще одна песнь Идеалу

Испытав отвращенье к женской одежде
В сотый, тысячный, раз миллионный,
В твое голове все было как прежде.
Все тот же приятель, знакомый знакомый.

Выходишь курить во двор одинокий.
Стрижку встрепещет Марьинский ветер.
Задумчивый Ангел, в дыму, сероокий,
Если бы видел насколько ты светел,

А вчера ты смолил с отцом на балконе
И красные розы от матери прятал
На белом лежащие подушкином фоне
Тонкой души надежные латы.

С рифмой по жизни, холстом и мольбертом
В подъезде, на улице пол свой не выдашь.
Сильный кулак правдивым ответом.
Таким, что боли не видно, не слышно.
02.04.2008

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108040203616

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Оксане VII

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:02 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Perception Of Madness

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РћРєСЃР°РЅРµ vii (700x544, 295Kb)

Пустое, зимнее время.
Она станет чьей-то женой
И ее тревожное бремя
Поторопит месячный зной.

Она знала первобытное племя
И жила в средних веках,
Поэзии сеяла семя.
Ее видели в тонких очках.

Близко с нею я двадцать веков
В разных странах и разных телах,
В омуте возвышенных слов
(Развеяли, помню, прах).

Ее личности сильны.
Ей, как никому, известен апогей;
Что тенью луны, свечение солнца
Я всегда… Всегда буду с ней.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107120100303

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

До встречи

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:01 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Perception Of Madness

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
Р”Рѕ РІСЃС‚СЂРµС‡Рё (700x544, 412Kb)

Котлу раскалённому вровень
Мечется торжественно
Сухой и обжигающий полдень.
Желтеет небо неестественно.

Даль, тропинка, болото,
Ночью воет господин,
Разукрашивает чего-то,
Будто ранний Алладин.

Погоди, парень, не надо.
Багровый туман не спешит
И тебе выдержкою награда -
Горы в руках ворошить.

Если что-то позволит случиться,
Так это луны в глазах транспечальных.
Суждено им, видно, разбиться
Во взорах влажных, прощальных.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107120100371

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Ментальное разложение

Понедельник, 30 Марта 2026 г. 01:00 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Characters From The Parallel World

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
Liminal Space (700x525, 74Kb)

Ты обязан немедленно раздеться –
Рубашка пропитана мочой
И некуда от боли деться.
Боль не сравнится с красотой.

Из тебя стальные иглы извлекая
Я буду слизывать сочащуюся кровь
Наблюдая как кожа промокает.
Меня заводит кровь.

Кричи и умирай от боли,
Когда сердце стану вырывать!
Умри без кожи, голым.
Разложившимся воскресни, когда стану целовать.
31.12.2012.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113010208385

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Олег Ковалев

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:09 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Characters From The Parallel World

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РћР»РµРі РљРѕРІР°Р»РµРІ (700x544, 341Kb)

Выбросить и выволочь
В грязи весеннего двора
Память, редкостную сволочь,
До смерти пора

И не помнить ничего земного
В лодке по направлению в аид,
Забыть любимого больного,
Излишне здорового на вид.

Забыть и собственные строки,
Разучиться умению писать
Последнее нацарапав в лодке:
«Хватит меня читать».

Сохранившиеся рукописи
Вечный Стикс поглотит.
Глубокий старец в рубище
О выходке той промолчит –

Недалекое будущее.
Сейчас же память выкинуть
Всю бы, до незначительных следов.
Харона, окинутого рубищем,
Не впечатлить малостью годов.

Проемность выбитого фрейма
Решительности примет всплеск.
Жизнь – предсказуемо-банальнейшая ферма:
Автоматизм поилок, скотобоен блеск.

И вот, за гранью денности и ночества,
Лодка покинула берег.
Удивлению нет предела!
Изрядно потрепанный одиночеством
На том берегу греясь
Ковалев дожидался Олег.
07.03.2011.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111030701060

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Не стой напротив выжженных дверей!

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:08 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Characters From The Parallel World

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РќРµ СЃС‚РѕР№ РЅР°РїСЂРѕС‚РёРІ РІС‹Р¶Р¶РµРЅРЅС‹С… РґРІРµСЂРµР№ (700x544, 406Kb)

Когда-то любимому Воланду из чата АТРОПИН.

Не стой напротив выжженных дверей,
Их пепел выветрят столетья
И тучкой мертвых голубей
Сорвутся петли в подземелье.

Пожалуйста, не стой напротив выжженных дверей!
Догорает дом, а угли одеянья.
Обезразличенность твоих очей
Как у воскового изваянья.

Да! Ты много стульев сжег не глядя,
Среди которых был и мой.
Жесткий, близкий и знакомый,
Древесной грея наготой.

Не стой напротив выжженных дверей.
Их воедино слились очертанья.
Ты отпускал своих зверей
Держа меня заведомо на растерзанье.

И что теперь? Воспламененный собственной искрою
Ты догорел до каменного стержня,
А там внутри, истины не скрою,
Садами мир бескраен, океанами безбрежен.

Не стой напротив выжженных дверей!
Здесь был Великий Поджигатель,
Сотворивший за шесть дней
Ужас мира. Мечтатель!
18. 09.2000.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110062208112

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Вольтаж

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:07 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Characters From The Parallel World

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
Р’РѕР»СЊС‚Р°Р¶ (700x544, 291Kb)

Изоляции толща истину скрыла,
Жилы медные держат поток.
Зажглись потолочные светила.
Не видим электрический ток.

Контакты искрят, окрашены дымом.
Трансформаторных масел неминуем пожар.
Рубильник, проводка остыла.
Разве ты его не включал?

Индустрия погасла, вечная тьма,
Ждут механизмы напряженья в сети.
Эй, признак остатка ума,
Ты все же рубильник включи.
19.05.2010.

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110062208070

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Герой

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:06 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Lunar Eclipse

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
Р“РµСЂРѕР№ (700x544, 269Kb)

Он не разбудит с кофе в руках.
Его часто нет на этой планете.
Мне не цвести в его семенах.
За себя мы утром не в ответе.

В его бунтарской голове
Раздаться б криком неимоверным –
«Возьми меня, меня к себе.
Домой, ведь это верно!»

А он стоял, с зонтом играя
Вдали от мчащихся машин.
«Ты идеал. Ты выходец из рая.
Ты целостен. Ты не рушин» -

Кричу ему, срывая голос
Остолбенев от красоты.
Он стоял, лицом не молод
И бледен как бледны холсты.

Обнять, согреть и защитить –
Для него обычное дело.
В его руках так и хочется жить,
Не прячась – смело.
07.09.2009

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109091200510

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Глаза

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:05 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Lunar Eclipse

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
Р“Р»Р°Р·Р° (700x544, 376Kb)

Два озера истошного крика,
Вы мне солью душу не рвите.
В ней и так заостренная пика
Звездой путеводной забыта.

Два окна в догоревшую душу,
Мне б не видеть погребальный костер!
Всегдашнее чувство удушья
Магний вспышки стер.

Две бездны одиночества,
Вам не знать бы мой финал…
По абзацам пророчества
Пред Вами маску я не снял.
05.11.2006

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109082506216

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Звезда растворяет небо

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:04 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Lunar Eclipse

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
Р—РІРµР·РґР° СЂР°СЃС‚РІРѕСЂСЏРµС‚ РЅРµР±Рѕ (700x544, 315Kb)

Звезда растворяет небо
В пучине алых снов.
Она откусила хлеба
С вампиром лживых снов.

Темнота разводит руки
На ряби серых стен.
Она оставляет звуки
И пепел сыпет, тлен.

Она расщепляет чувства.
Ей окон ведом блеск.
Ее унесло безумство
По тонкой линии леск.
26.02.2004

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109082506081

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Алый ветер

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:03 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon - Lunar Eclipse

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РђР»С‹Р№ РІРµС‚РµСЂ (700x544, 340Kb)

Алый ветер, знойный ветер
Залетел, разбив окно
И один лишь метр
От подоконника. Темно.

Ветер алый, растворитель,
С ног сбивал и ярость вылил.
Ты герой, ты мой спаситель,
Ярость ветра пересилил.
08.03.2008

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109082506019

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Трепет

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:02 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon -5 Ways To Nowhere

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РўСЂРµРїРµС‚ (700x544, 461Kb)

Дождь закрыт, цветы на небе.
Ты придешь, разрушив двери
И уснем на стенах башен.
Прозрачность их не красит.

Пустота же их не лечит.
Сохраним мы общий трепет,
А проснемся: утро блекло.
Засыпать на гладких стеклах

Обучил ты равнодушно,
Тенью свет янтарно мерить,
Взглядом взгляд ловить на стрите.
Его вряд ли кто-то встретит.
22.09.2008

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108100503753

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Солнце

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:01 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon -5 Ways To Nowhere.

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
РЎРѕР»РЅС†Рµ (700x544, 401Kb)

Раскинуло лапы кровавое солнце,
Выцвели стены под блеклостью рам.
Обезумели тени в ожидании принца,
Зверям подобно снуют по углам.

Шепчут в надежде уж мертвой:
«Он придет, выбивающий двери,
Пыль растревожит поступью твердой.
Шагом привыкший спокойствие мерить.

Он достанет огромный мачете –
Отец миллиардов воплощенных идей.
Он умело разрубит одиночества сети,
Сплетенные тайно безликостью дней».

Беспричинные звуки сходят на нет,
Не украсит солнце тусклость зеркал
И исходит будто бы свет.
Обезображено тело тем, кто создал.
01.10.2008

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108100503747

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Словесная слабость

Воскресенье, 29 Марта 2026 г. 01:00 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Sundial Aeon -5 Ways To Nowhere.

Настроение сейчас - Поэтическое

1.
СЃР»РѕРІРµСЃРЅР°СЏ СЃР»Р°Р±РѕСЃС‚СЊ 2 (700x544, 368Kb)

Вертикальных могил словесная слабость
Гонит и гонит к лежащим крестам.
Мой друг, печаль и радость.
Я не отпущу тебя, не отдам.

Сквозь леса воспоминаний,
Люд и нежить прошлых лет
Тебя найду снаружи зданий
Зеленым эхом в парапет.

Оглянись сию минуту:
Нет, пространство, газ.
Время прекратилось будто,
Чтоб жест запомнить, гулкость фраз.
16.09.2005

© Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108100503734

Метки: поэзия любовная лирика

Комментарии (0)

Moths

Вторник, 17 Марта 2026 г. 04:18 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
Moths (700x393, 386Kb)

From the week-long heatwave that had seemingly no end, it felt as if there was nowhere to hide on that day. Only the numerous fast-food establishments lining both sides of the street promised the coolness they had in abundance, thanks to the air conditioning units creating a microclimate.
Entering one of them, Demetra picked a cola with ice from the counter, sat down at a table, and turned her gaze toward the street visible through the panoramic window. Cars, in their constant motion, moved on without interruption, almost as if they were hypnotized by a shared rhythm. Pedestrians, too, became a part of this unified tempo, marked only by the predictable pauses dictated by the traffic lights—moments when cars and pedestrians swapped places in their dance, yet, despite it being well past 3 p.m., there were still many people on foot.
Sipping the chilled drink through a straw, Demetra slowly raised her head. The two packets of sugar, left untouched in her pocket, remained in place as she focused on the electronic clock on the wall. Its bright red digits, so vivid that they illuminated the clock’s black casing, shone through the sunlight streaming in from the windows. The time, as it turned out, moved on relentlessly, and those fifteen minutes of 4 p.m. passed by unnoticed, especially in the cool comfort that separated her from the summer heat. Only the third, seconds line of digits counted the moments: twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—until a blinding flash of white snow struck her eyes, causing complete disorientation.
The sharp transition from the subjective world to the objective one holds the greatest danger of losing your balance. Your body's position before and after the shift may not align, and often, it doesn't. Before, you might not just be walking but crossing the street; before, you might be seated at work or in the comfort of home, practicing mindfulness exercises.
When she fell into the snow, Demetra didn’t feel its coldness, nor its dampness—she felt nothing at all, not even the slightest weakness. Rising to her feet and looking around, she found nothing to anchor her gaze upon, as the white expanse stretched to the horizon, endless, leaving only the option to follow an internal compass, heading west or southwest. For in the objective world, there is no hunger, no thirst, no exhaustion; otherwise, it would be difficult to endure it for billions of years, so that in this time, the passage of time in the subjective world stops—there is simply no time.
— Psi-navigator? — A child’s voice came from somewhere distant. When Demetra turned to look, she saw a boy, drawing something in the snow.
— What?
— Only four types of entities can be here: psi-navigators, schizophrenics, telepathic cartographers working for special services from various countries, and cartographers in general.
— I don’t think I suffer from schizophrenia, — Demetra smiled.
— But you could easily acquire it if you get stuck here for billions of years, holding onto the subjective world, and then return there, again and again, re-experiencing all the emotions and feelings that were lacking here: the satisfaction of hunger, quenching thirst, and the complete rediscovery of lost senses—smell, taste, sight, hearing, and kinesthetic sensations.
— What are you drawing?
— The rune Uruz, so that a shaman comes, strikes the drum, and maybe then, at last, it will rain, gentle and kind.
Demetra looked around, trying to understand why rain would be needed here when there was nothing but the endless white field, with nothing for the eye to rest upon. Then she realized how terribly mistaken she had been! Right behind the boy stood a door, as white as everything else, with a frame she circled curiously. From the northern side, the black door handle was on the right, and on the southern side, it was on the left, able to open either toward or away from her.
— There can be no rain or snow in the objective world, — Demetra remarked.
— That’s why everyone is drawn to the subjective one. And you, — the boy pointed at Demetra — can help me with that. Open the door.
When Demetra opened the southern side of the door, at first, nothing extraordinary appeared beyond it. The same white field, with no walls or windows, just the same as before, stretched out.
— The world beyond the door is no different. Everything is the same.
— Follow me, but first, leave the packet of sugar behind. Otherwise, without that or some other anchor, you won’t be able to return.
Stepping through the doorframe, the blinding whiteness began to fade, and the scene shifted to a nighttime city. It was hard to believe that, in the subjective world, Demetra’s body remained in the caf;, her eyes frozen in observing the summer street outside the window. But now, in the objective world, she had stepped into a different layer of subjective matter, one where the same streets and ribbons of wet asphalt reflected smudged images of neon signs. These images spread further and further, distorted by the relentless steps of unsuspecting pedestrians, who ignored the hints scattered everywhere like reflections in store windows.

— Would you and your friend like to join me for a cup of coffee? — A voice, unfamiliar yet friendly, broke her concentration.
It was a young man, smiling warmly, his left leg soaked from the rain while his right remained dry, his left foot barefoot and exposed.
At that moment, Demetra failed to notice that the boy was standing behind him, mimicking his pose and becoming more and more transparent.
— One hour for ten years! — Exclaimed the young man, startled.
When the entity from the objective world is projected into the subjective world, it becomes unstable and quickly breaks apart as the personal time accelerates, causing one hour in the objective world to transform into ten years in the subjective. This results in a paradox—a heart stopping.
Demetra noticed the absence of auditory, visual, kinesthetic, and taste-scent sensations. The flow of emotions was missing. The young man continued:
— The sound of wind in the ears, the smell of rain, the feeling of the earth beneath your feet—all of this is nothing compared to the feeling of true hunger, — he said dreamily, rolling his eyes, and opened the caf; door, drawing the attention of the patrons, who were immediately struck by Demetra’s stunning appearance.
— I’ve always been curious about how different coffee tastes here.
Taking a sip, Demetra continued to observe him, noting how, hour by hour, his once pleasant face and smooth skin began to age. It was at this moment that she averted her gaze, trying to refocus on the packet of sugar she had left behind in the objective world, magnetically drawing her consciousness back through the doorframe. The white field unfolded, and when she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring at the clock on the wall of the caf;, once again separated by its cool air from the summer heat outside. And in her pocket, where two packets had once been, there was now only one.

March 15, 2026 - March 17, 2026

© Copyright: Дмитрий Пласмер, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №226031700147

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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Мотыльки

Вторник, 17 Марта 2026 г. 04:17 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Мистическое

1.
РњРѕС‚С‹Р»СЊРєРё (700x397, 231Kb)

От продолжавшейся которую неделю подряд жары, казалось бы, некуда было скрыться в тот день и только расположенные по обе стороны улицы многочисленные заведения фаст-фуда манили заведомо обещанной прохладой, исходящей то создающих микроклимат кондиционеров.
Войдя внутрь, выбрав колу со льдом на кассе и присев с ней за стол Диметра перевела взгляд на улицу, хорошо просматривающуюся через панорамное окно, автомобили за которым гипотонически не останавливались в своем движении, а прохожие были вовлечены в их, один общий ритм, отличавшийся только переключением светофоров пешеходных переходов, с предсказуемой периодичностью создающих паузы между движением автомобилей и пешеходов, которых, не смотря на начало четвертого, было достаточно много.
Допивая сильно охлажденный прохладительный напиток через соломинку она медленно, положив карман входившие в заказ два пакетика сахара, постепенно поднимая голову, фокусировала в тот день внимание на висящих на стене электронных часах, чьи яркие красные цифры, настолько яркие что они подсвечивали черный корпус самих часов, но при этом яркий солнечный свет из окон не затмевал их и не затруднял отображение времени, которое, как оказалось текло неумолимо быстро и эти пятнадцать минут четвертого совершенно не ощущались, в особенности в глубине прохладного комфорта, отделяющего абсолютную идиллию от летнего зноя и только третий, секундный ряд цифр отсчитывал секунды: двадцать одна, двадцать две, двадцать три – и ослепительная яркость белого снега резко ударила Диметре в глаза, что не могло не вызвать состояние полной дезориентации.
В резкой смене субъективного мира на объективный заключается самая главная опасность не удержаться на ногах поскольку положение тела до сдвига может не совпадать и зачастую не совпадает с положением тела после: до можно не просто идти, а переходить дорогу; до можно находиться на работе в сидячем положении или же в комфортной домашней обстановке делать упражнения по усилению осознанности.
Упав в снег, Диметра не ощутила его холода, сырости – она не ощутила ничего, даже какой бы то ни было слабости. Встав на ноги и оглядевшись она не смогла ни за что зацепиться взглядом так как белое поля простиралось до линии горизонта и, казалось, ему не было конца, из-за чего можно было только повиноваться некому внутреннему компасу и идти согласно внутренним ощущениям на запад или юго-запад, ведь ни голода, ни жажды, ни усталости в объективном мире не существует, иначе бы было проблематично находиться в нем миллиарды лет таким образом, что в это время течение времени в субъективном мире останавливается – его не происходит.
— Пси-навигатор? — Откуда-то издалека раздался детский голос и когда Диметра направила в его сторону взгляд она увидела пытающего что-то нарисовать на снегу мальчика.
— Что?
— Только четыре типа сущностей могут здесь находиться: пси-навигаторы, шизофреники и выступающие в роли картографов телепаты, работающие на спецслужбы разных стран картографы.
— Шизофренией я вроде бы не страдаю, —
Диметра улыбнулась.
— Но ее легко приобрести, если застрять здесь на миллиарды лет сохраняя привычку к субъективному миру и вдруг вернуться туда, вновь и вновь переживая все чувства и эмоции, которых так здесь не хватало: удовлетворение голода, утоление жажды, полное обретение забытого набора обонятельных, вкусовых, визуальных, аудиальных и кинестетических ощущений.
— А что ты рисуешь?
— Руну Уруз, чтобы пришел шаман, удар ил в бубен и может хоть тогда наконец пойдет дождь, добрый и ласковый.
Диметра огляделась по сторонам в попытке понять зачем здесь нужен дождь если кроме бескрайнего белого поля, в котором глазу не за что зацепиться, ничего нет, после чего она изумилась тому насколько сильно ошибалась! Прямо за спиной мальчика красовалась не менее белая как все остальное дверь с проемом, который она изучающе обошла со всех сторон: с северной стороны черная ручка на двери была расположена справа, а с южной – слева и могла открываться как на себя, так и от себя.
— В объективном мире не может быть ни дождя, ни снега, — заметила Диметра.
— Поэтому всех так и тянет в субъективный. И ты, — мальчик указал на Диметру пальцем, — можешь мне в этом помочь. Открой дверь.
При открытии южной стороны двери наружу, на первый взгляд ничего сверхъестественного за ней не было, лишь то же самое белое поле без окон и стен, которое окружало все и без дверного проема.
— Мир за дверью ничем не отличается. Все одинаково.
— Следуй за мной, но сначала оставь пакетик сахара, иначе без того или иного анкера ты не сможешь вернуться.
При входе в дверной проем белизна начала рассеиваться, и картина сменилась ночным городом. Трудно было поверить в то, что в субъективном мире тело Диметры продолжало находится в кафе и ее глаза замерли в наблюдении летней улицы за окном, в объективном мире она шагнула и оказалась совершенно в другом слое субъективной материи, в которой все те же улицы, ленты мокрого асфальта, отражающего в своих лужах смазанные образы неоновых вывесок, все больше и больше расплывавшихся от непрекращающихся шагов ничего не подозревавших прохожих, не подозревавших и полностью игнорирующих подсказки, разбросанные буквально повсюду как отражение прохожих в витринах.
Оторвавшись от своих мыслей Диметра, внимательно начала смотреть в свое собственное отражение. Поистине, в объективном мире выплеснутая на морозе горячая вода даже при совпадении определенных параметров не может замерзать быстрее холодной, не может быть шаровых молний и той красавицы, чье отражение вместо своего наблюдала Диметра рядом со ставшим совершенно другим мальчиком из объективного мира, сочетавшим в себе на удивление как мужские так и женские черты, если хотя бы что-то можно было разглядеть в отражении, за котором так же было кафе.
— Вас с подругой можно пригласить на чашечку кофе? — Диметру отвлек от созерцания незнакомый голос.
Это был доброжелательно улыбавшийся молодой человек, промокший от дождя на левую ногу при том, что правая оставалась сухой и в обуви, в отличие от босой левой.
В это время Диметра не заметила, что мальчик стоял позади него, принял его позу и становился все более и более прозрачным.
— Один час за десять лет! — Воскликнув, молодой человек вздрогнул.
При проекции сущности объективного мира в сущность субъективного последняя становится нестабильной и быстро распадается при резком ускорении хода персонального времени, из-за чего воспринимаемый объективной сущностью час для субъективной превращается в десять лет и заканчивается парадоксальный остановкой сердца. Отсутствующие в объективном мире набор аудиально-визульно-кинестетических ощущений, вкусоароматических ощущений, поток чувств и эмоций. И он продолжил:
— Шум ветра в ушах, запах дождя, чувство земли под ногами – ничего из этого не может сравниться с чувством настоящего голода, — мечтательно закатил глаза он и открыл дверь в кафе, посетители которого сразу же обратили внимание на сногсшибательные внешние данные Диметры.
— Всегда было интересно насколько здесь отличается вкус кофе.
Сделав глоток Диметра, стала наблюдать за ним, как час за часом его казавшееся приятным лицо, гладкая кожа начинали стареть. Именно в этот момент Диметра отвела взгляд в попытке сфокусировать внимание на оставленном в объективном мире пакетике сахара, магнитно зацепившем ее сознание обратно через дверной проем, белое поле в результате чего она открыла глаза и обнаружила себя наблюдающей за часами на стене кафе, отделяющего своей прохладой от жаркой летней улицы. И в ее кармане вместо двух лежал уже один пакетик сахара.

15.03.2026-17.03.2026

Метки: проза не смотри в зеркала

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Immersion to the pool

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:07 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
Immersion to the pool (700x393, 229Kb)

"A trance and Obsession – the diagnosis of F44.3 on MKB-10.
Frustration at which there is a temporary loss of both feeling of personal identity, and full understanding surrounding. In certain cases separate acts are operated by other personality, spirit, the deity or "force". The attention and understanding can be limited or focused on one-two aspects from a direct environment and the limited, but repeating set of movements, rods and statements is often observed. Here only those trances which are involuntary or undesirable have to join and complicate daily activity because arise or remain also outside acceptable situations religious or other kulturalno", - rushed in the head Dimeters quicker than the coming water whose blue ripples even before contact enveloped some strange and inexplicable power, is associative mysterious fog of a mental attraction.
– You look bad, Dee, – having critically examined from legs to the head Oleg slowly floated on dense air of badly lit elevator shaft up.
– Yes, happened, and better.
– All this from the fact that you so long to me didn;t come. I spoke, you can come when you want, here or in any other point isn;t dependent on space-time stereotypes.
– And where the mine conducts? – the bulbs which were reflected in her eyes, appear, were the only objects of a material world if to consider the fact that actually there is no elevator in the mine and never was.
– In eternity, he settled more conveniently in air.
– It is interesting what is eternity …
– Something pleasantly and never coming to an end. Eternity, eternal life as an immortality synonym through infinitely pleasant repetition of the same day which is most remembered and having the greatest value in relation to lived.
– And if that significant day is not in current, and in one of antecedents, then how I can repeat it directly here?
– All lives are interconnected and there is no difference in what of them are.
Nevertheless in the mine it was a little strange to endure himself and the absent elevator, both the passenger, and the dispatcher on that side of the loudspeaker.
– To me it was never warm as here.
– О, it was necessary to come more often.
– One of my clients just asks about it practically on each consultation.
– And you come together, the mine very long, sometimes, apparently, it will never end.
– But me is more comfortable with you together.
– To admit, and me too.
Having opened eyes under Dimeter water for a long time I couldn;t forget Oleg;s words about eternity and its role in relation to fugacity of the current life.

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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Edge of miracles

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:06 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mustical

1.
Edge of miracles (700x393, 228Kb)

- Whose today turn to spill? – suddenly the question escaped at me.
- Washing, - quietly and measuredly he answered, having significantly added – Only …
- Just?.
- There, where we will go … This special place … Promise me two things...
- Well, - I easily agreed.
- The first. Never and under no circumstances release my hand. The second. Don;t listen, don;t trust and under no circumstances don;t follow entities whatever they "benevolent" seemed to you. – Already I spilled a glass it.
- Well, - I agreed again, on a habit leaving an undershirt near a huge pool. – It can be dangerous?
- Yes. But at the correct actions at us it will turn out to catch two-three of very appetizing fields.
Having very firmly squeezed his hand this time I didn;t close eyes – the curiosity got the best of fear. First transparent waves completely absorbed me and the picture immediately was replaced, changing over and over again as at already familiar rewind of a videotape forward. Videla I the rusted fencing with an inscription that the entrance is prohibited, behind it the old, decayed, abandoned building on height eleven floors with long corridors, the obpsharpanny and ornamented walls. The improvised rewind stopped near the wall revetted with a white rectangular tile.
"This hospital – the edge of miracles, came into it and there disappeared!!!" - red letters of an inscription, and lower said in black color:
"It precisely".
The first time goosebumps of fear ran on a back when I noticed the shadows sliding on walls, and except us there was nobody. The second time when from that long corridors of steel empty by sight reaches sounds: steps, rustles, gnashes, shouts, groans, entreaties about the help, monotonous ritual mantras, an echo of the stray dogs whining before death.
- Where we, Oleg? – I whispered for fear.
- Be afraid of nothing. Dee, - it pulled me for itself(himself).
Several minutes later from depth of one of corridors the inhuman voice which isn;t expressing what metal intonations was distributed:
- Mister, at me didn;t leave to hold him. – Immediately in air the anthropomorphous figure of speaking was also slowly shown.
It I was translucent almost through from falling through the glasses of a moonlight which are used up by mysterious runes, stanovyashchy gray passing through his intangible body. Standing at edge of an impressive hole in a floor it slowly receded back, leaving viscous gray marks.
- How could you miss the fresh field? – mixing a regret with rage Oleg approached this being shivering with fear – by sight a hybrid of the person and a shadow. – On your favor I and my companion we will remain hungry …
- But, Mister …
- On knees! – contemptuously Oleg threatened it with a finger, literally stepping on air on the place of a hole in a floor.
Meanwhile the being obediently kneeled.
- Never miss my production, - it spread slender long fingers on the head of a being, slowly, a finger behind a finger getting into a cranium. Contents in his right hand almost completely reminded a human brain except for unnatural dullness and unstable jellylike consistence. Having thrown back the head back it sent jelly to a mouth: cerebellum, occipital beats, temporal, parietal, frontal. Was possible even to consider the subcrustal structures of a brain eaten by it.
Not in forces to observe further I closed eyes, closed ears from heart-breaking mix of inhuman shout with a metal gnash. And everything abated, the shrouding waves of warm air installed in me tranquility, and its voice – confidence.
- Sorry, you shouldn;t have done it at you. Simply … Each slave without due chronic punishment begins to think himself the owner.
- What, don;t apologize. – Oh, what was delightful – to nestle on his strong, inspiring protection and confidence body.
- Now the whole week of Hunger … - there were we along streets, narrow and cozy from absolute lifelessness.
- About! Look, sea foam frames the gulf …
- Beautifully, Dee. I wasn;t here earlier.
- Хм, - I was afraid to seem silly. – And it seemed to me, you here already know each grain of sand.
- Did you so understand nothing?!
- Didn;t understand that?
- These empty houses, streets, the seas, oceans, trees, footpaths, a breeze, foam, the sky, walls, a voice, sensual pleasure – all this prison, infinite prison, endlessly and there won;t be enough edge which to bypass and billions of years also I in it the prisoner.
- Prison? – it is dumbfounded I asked again having stopped. – But from here to leave. That is there is no wish to wake up. Here it is fine.
- Do you know what only similarity at me to people? You are people – you live in prison of reality: one it is pleasant, another isn;t present, but none of you plainly can come to light, break open a door. When I asked it about a body, about own mortal physical and surely male body, being in which I would play in a sandbox being a little boy, would experience joy of an infancy, childhood, growing and withering.

I would consider the growing old body, the wrinkles over the years appearing, a gray hair in a mirror and eventually would experience all charm of dying: as the rhythm of my heart as in vessels the tone falls slows down, and later under sounds of funeral orchestra the horse dragging the cart loaded with my open coffin would stop near a freshly exposed grave – a long-awaited feast for the colonies of worms living in its subsoil, only and the boards of my coffin waiting for rotting to leave only bones the storing my genetic code, my own genetic code. The father only laughed to my desire to find a mortal body and as a sign of falsehood of an enlightenment ground here. Only some sleeping as Conductors in a material world occasionally can pull out me for a while from here …
I woke up, hid a face in a pillow and began to cry.

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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The sixth experience

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:05 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
The sixth experience (700x393, 229Kb)

- To ask or not to ask? – I thought and I decided. – The doctor, it is possible one question?
- Of course.
- The matter is that one my friend dreams strange, very beautiful person. Dreams are very realistic, he walks with her, talks then she wakes up completely exhausted. What do you think of it?
- Your girlfriend in big danger, - the doctor pricked up the ears. – Take it to me. The matter is that it is similar to share a room. There, the set of the entities, like parasites which are eager to be installed and drink energy lives in darkness.
- And what, independently to remove it how it is impossible?
- It is extremely dangerous.
- Why?
- I had in practice one case.
- Tell.
- Still long ago, in Soviet period, to me the patient came with complaints to the general weakness, nightmares. She complained of the same dream. As if she walks on the deserted village of the childhood with the beautiful young man, every day it thawed literally in the eyes. From her stories it was succeeded to find out that this essence – the night guest – showed only that it wanted to see and said only what it wanted to hear, I looked as the man of her dream, I was afraid of mirrors.
- And what with it became? – unexpectedly I drew a parallel with own dreams.
- She after the long sessions of hypnosis learned to operate partially dreams, deception enticed essence to a mirror then her mind grew dull.
- It is interesting what it she saw there?.
- Do you want to learn my opinion?
- Aha, - I nodded.
- Of course nobody knows it, but … I consider, these entities – guests – only therefore forbid to watch in mirrors that they are actually extremely awful and them can kill, expel their own reflections from a body.

- Here you, Dimeter. Probably you decided to drag me to a mirror?
- Wait, you see everything that happens to me?
- Yes.
- Went, - I took him by hand and brought to the curtained mirror near a tree.
- It isn;t necessary. You aren;t ready yet.
- Nonsense. Now I will pull off a cover about a mirror and everything at last will become clear.
- The billeting, - started back it. – There will be no me – others will come. Melancholy, despondency, cry at the nights without a break – the majority of the leading windows in you are wide open. Don;t do it. Your field already leaves in anywhere, I only drink the 100-th trifle.
- No! – I was ready to bare a mirror.
- I adore you. Don;t do it. – It stopped my hand. – Do you want, you will wake up full of strength today, Darling?
- What?.
- I adore you, Dimetrochka, - he embraced.
In its embraces there was a wish to remain eternally, in its warm caring hands force, beauty proceeding the warm, summer, deserted city was felt. The silence, the soft calming silence were interrupted only зовн, by an almost inaudible thin, almost inaudible rumble of wind in ears.
- Do you hear?
- Wind?
- Yes. It means, the DOOR opened. Undress.
- How? Naked?
- Yes. Don;t hesitate, I one thousand times saw you naked.
Having appeared before it without clothes I habitually stepped in the poured water, having felt its comfortable warmly bare feet, closed eyes and jumped.
The corpse of the young man lay in the unfamiliar apartment on a floor in an unnatural pose, and over it was groundless, gradually moving away to a ceiling a sphere, absolutely white, similar to cotton candy. Oleg very carefully caught him hands and like the same cotton candy, holding with the left hand, right carefully pinched off a piece, chewed and swallowed.
- Try, it is very tasty, - stretched the next piece it.
Together with taste, sweet, but not luscious taste, covered me with a wave: images, symbols, scraps of memoirs of someone;s childhood overflowed completely as in slow-motion shot and disappeared when I swallowed the most tasty delicacy.
- What did you see?
- His childhood.
- I congratulate, you got its tidbit, - he ate up, pinching the remains of this strange cotton candy from hands.
I woke up, as well as Oleg, in high spirits, full of strength and the ideas promised.

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The fifth experience

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:04 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
The fifth experience (700x393, 229Kb)

- It is so much recipes?. – I noticed looking at the doctor.
- One half less usual, - she answered setting round stamp on everyone. – You make great success. Good fellow.
- Do you the truth so consider?
- Of course, - she stretched new number recipes. – Look in a window. What do you see?
The barred window of the first floor of a polyclinic office looked at the narrow street filled with from time immemorial hurrying people. Where do all of them hurry?
- I see people, - I answered. – From time immemorial hurrying people, healthy, full of strength.
- Here. Do you want to be as they? Therefore hold, - it put to me in a palm one by one recipes. – It only as a last resort if shadows come again; it in the morning and in the evening; it before going to bed; it on two tablets after a meal.
- They will come again?
I asked about nightmares, actually why I am observed at it, and, naturally, never told about It.
- No, we moved away them, worked. Others will come.
- And it will repeat? – I removed in a pocket recipes.
- Look, - it drew three lines, identical on length, on a leaflet for notes. – Here you, here your reflection, and in the middle as you think that? Darkness! Darkness is very artful, before to be displayed reflection takes place eighteen of its layers. Now you are rather healthy person – you direct the reflection, you talk to him, but it is worth tarrying, distracting slightly and reflection will already direct you, to become your movements, to order that to you and how to do. First you won;t notice it.
- And then? – I interrupted with the shivering voice.
- Without medicines darkness will absorb you completely.
- Doctor! – The office was run in by the young girl.
- Aaa, Lenochka. Minute, we already finish.
- Well, everything is clear to me, - rose and I said goodbye.
Warm sunny day didn;t let home, there was a wish to walk, listen to music intentionally slowing down on the long street conducting home. Oh, if I know about a surprise – would run home at full speed. A long queue in drugstore, at last washing, then the most tiresome expectation so far they will check recipes for authenticity, will sell the medicine which is stored probably in the safe, differently that there it is possible to check forty minutes. On attached to the back of the handle of an entrance door to an adhesive strip from a pack of cigarettes having convinced that to the apartment nobody came into my absence, I locked a door, switched on light, was undressed, came into the room. On the keyboard the fresh live red rose lay. As it smells. Mm …
Why I didn;t notice the wooden swing with the peeled-off paint allocated against the background of the playground at the end of the street earlier? And it is nowhere. Where It?
Oh that it there? - the thought rushed. – Same my notebook, a new notebook for verses.
Precisely remembering as bought it the day before yesterday I opened and didn;t believe, literally didn;t believe eyes. It all is used up to a cover! My handwriting! The ideas, sketches – all in the form of the finished poems, my style, my experiments, a habit to put date at the end. I precisely remember, September now, and the last poem is dated January of the next year.
- Ku-ku! – He closed my eyes warm, slightly moist fingers. – The good fellow, that I told nothing about me!
- Oleg... Your rose … It is impossible to believe eyes …
- I knew, - he embraced. – You see how it is important – not to watch it in mirrors, - you managed to bring verses.
- And?.
- It is the big sign. Perhaps … I at last … - It embraced more strong, even more strong.
- Will you expect me there, in reality instead of a flower?
- Eh … - he sadly looked down. – Unless you are sure that you sleep now? Unless you are sure that all that is a reality?
- No. If it is a reality that Bol I don;t wish to fall asleep; if a dream – I don;t wish to wake up, Darling.
- A dimeter, nevertheless it is necessary, otherwise for whom I sea salt in the bathroom wrote the most important word?
It thawed! It thawed, these walls, silent walls again …
In all bottom of a bathtub sea salt, green from essential oil of an eucalyptus, exactly removed the letters T R A N C E.

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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The fourth experience

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:03 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
The fourth experience (700x393, 230Kb)

What, excuse?
- How mother?
- Эээ, whose? – I asked, trying to understand that I do in the yard.
I didn;t remember neither as put on nor as closed a door behind itself nor as went outside. Each word through internal fog troubled; fog was so dense that I fir-trees-fir-trees recognized the neighbor – the elderly woman in a coat.
- Your mother. You as it should be? A pale face, the look which is absent and watch something as on the street it is cold, and you in one undershirt. You will catch a cold!
- The Aaa, washing … It is normal.
- Say hello to it and put on more warmly.
- Well. Yes I here … Well … I follow cigarettes.
- Well, clear.
Consciousness refused to be restored, the body was wadded, hands didn;t obey, still it was necessary to hide from them – from public eyes on the street. Though parents were for 600 kilometers from here, all the same there would be informants. One inhaling on the run, another.
"How I after all left the house? When? What for? Why didn;t throw at least with a windbreaker shoulders", - the same thoughts on the way home turned.
"Taaak, a door I locked – it is already good"
The picture in my empty apartment slightly dumbfounded: in kitchen, in the room of parents and in mine – the light was turned on everywhere, radio worked, water flew from cranes, the parental computer was switched on:
- Dimetrochka, I am hungry. Go to bed quickly. – The notebook inscription on the monitor said.
Having quickly switched off, having nervously smoked a cigarette I laid down under a blanket, thoughts, the same thoughts haunted.
- Great you about cigarettes thought up!
- Do you laugh? At me shook with fear of a knee. I stood and didn;t know what to do.
- And unless you remember nothing?
- I don;t remember that?
- Go to me, all shakes you.
- Oleg …
- The CU - with-with, calm down. – he embraced having closed hands on a waist. – My good, quietly, quietly.
- It was the sea?
- Become exactly, relax a body.
- So?
- Yes. – It arranged hands so that warm little fingers densely adjoined to my temples, thumbs to a forehead, and I felt his forefingers as if all skull.
It reminded splashes, through their stream I saw a picture from outside, saw myself going on a warm surface the sea – going on water.
- And then you stopped and asked where conducts the sea. Forgive, I so often did earlier, you shouldn;t have remembered anything.
- So where conducts the sea? – it was heated about his warm, live, asthenic body.
- In you, expensive, at the colors surrounding you, tastes, smells, vibrations, flights, landings. I got up from your bed, put on your clothes, faded laces your fingers, touched yours, your body went outside.
- So you were me?
- So occurs every night, - he embraced even more strong. – Went, we will drive?
Warm from the summer sun, comfortable from absence of any people except us, the city, fresh and damp from a recent rain, hospitably let in the underground passages conducting to raspolagayushche to the empty platforms of metro stations painted by lighting lamps, lamps of restrictive strips, hours and the timer of an interval of train service. From deep darkness of a tunnel at first the strips of headlights which were reflected in a wall, and seemed then and with anything incomparable music – the rumble of the arriving train – added a picture: neither the driver in a cabin, nor passengers except us, nor the announcement of the closed doors. We took places, he sat down at doors to put the head on the wall proceeding further a window, I nearby, the train slowly gathered speed, with even more fascinating sound braked opening doors at each deserted station.
- Great I thought up, the truth? – its voice was distributed the second stream of thoughts in the head.
- Still as!
- Don;t shout, and that you will strain a voice. You can speak with me without disconnecting lips.
"It is interesting how", - I thought.
- Quite so, - he confirmed.
- That is you hear my thoughts? – mentally I addressed.
- Not everything, only turned to me, - it got something from a pocket. – Hold, and that at me a habit to put someone else;s lighters in a pocket.
- Thanks, - I took the lighter, strong I squeezed his hand and put the head on a shoulder – his warm shoulder.
The kaleidoscope of one set of lamps in tunnels before stations was replaced by others, from time to time darkness lit up with flashing of oncoming trains, instinctively closed eyes, and having woken up in the compressed hand found that lighter.

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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The third experience

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:02 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

- I will come to you, it is possible? Or the infinite dreams directed to catching and eating of vagrant animals anew will force to wake up in cold sweat under a bed with tachycardia?
Without a doubt, He couldn;t know the answer to this question – it is checked by practical consideration. Four o;clock in the morning, mystical ringlets of smoke of the twentieth cigarette wound not aired room. Nicotine! Oh, how many in smoke it for the brain which isn;t sleeping merged.
Also there was a place of rest, damp gray walls supplementing warm poststorm air; also there was without uniform cloudlet a clear sky of natural color whose infinite distance fell thoughts of infinity.
- Be not afraid, they don;t bite. Here nobody and anything by definition can do you the harm, - made a crown a cloud of butterflies over his head.
I noticed it not at once, having decided to take a walk in the city.
- Beautiful.
- It is a gift of the rare guest. It laid out butterflies a tetragrammaton – the unpronounceable name – and left to me. Do you want ice cream?
- My loved, ice cream in a wafer cup! In life I didn;t eat more tasty, - on gram I didn;t lie.
Having taken by an arm he showed round the city calming the bezlyudnost, the city for two stretching to the line of the horizon streets, avenues and we stopped at the low fountain which became to trifles to acquaintances.
- Do you want focus?
- With jumps on pools?
- Not - and, better.
The ancient thick glass tumbler scattered into smithereens from strong blow about asphalt from scope then it is similar to rewind of a videotape returned on the former place without uniform scratch.
- You too so can, the girl. The lovely sleeping girl.
- Yes well.
- Look attentively at a glass, trace in the head its image up to exact quantity of sides, factory marking of a bottom on the back and listen to the loudest of voices in the head. It turned out? Now from all force break a glass and say it.
- On a point back, - I said having broken a glass and seeing as it gathers back.
- Good girl.
- It is possible, I will pour a glass?
- Now my turn to spill.
Its deep voice interrupted a sound, a sound, metal, skrezhetashchy on ears, of the heavy shadow reserving a black loop. I became angry on the shadow which interrupted our privacy a shadow – and it immediately rimed.
- Oleg, what is it?
- Hakh! You a look froze the Inspector.
- Inspector?
- Yes, you thought to materialize me, not to depart from me a step, otherwise they aren;t.
- Funny, you see all events at me in the head.
- Don;t long you so. Time will come and …
- As everything is difficult.
- Difficult, but it isn;t impossible. Will you be still frozen?
- And you?
- It only for you, - it spilled on asphalt a pool.
- Excuse.
- Do you the truth want to feed me? Truth?
- The truth-However, - jumped on a pool I.
This time mix of a grass and clover of a glade shaded a huge tree, shaded also the mirror curtained by white fabric.
- Why you so strange smile?
- Others had to be persuaded, to build the whole labyrinths of travel, and you voluntarily wish to feed. It also makes laugh.
- I will feed, only don;t talk in riddles.
- You don;t know about what you ask.
- Of course I don;t know, you don;t tell.
- Promise to look never in mirrors, - It gently touched my hair.
- But …
- And what is deadly. You bring an image of the place – I will show. It has to be or the place of a congestion of people in a trance and with obsession, or the apartment with domestic cats or aquarian small fishes. It is sure, you without the movement are ready to travel, you will fall asleep without problems so we will go there. After you will ask owners whether their small fishes strange behaved. It and to serve as understanding of an essence of mirrors. You would know as it is heavy to break and curtain them.
- It is heavier not to glance in them at least with half an eye.
- I spoke, you won;t like what was seen. Watch here what grass at us under legs. For you I grew up.
- Beautifully, - I embraced, having put the head on a shoulder.
So and to stand, eternally to stand having embraced in the middle of a summer glade, in the middle of our world.
- Very tasty, - he whispered on an ear. – Now I am full.
- Humour, strange at you.
- By no means. It to you.
He stretched the butterfly sitting on a palm who obediently flew to me.
Having woken up only I realized all sense of his words, sense that means to feed. Forces wasn;t even to move, a wadded body I didn;t obey, my room to four o;clock in the afternoon was aired, and on a chandelier the butterfly, a white butterfly sat.

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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The second experience

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:01 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
The second experience (700x393, 230Kb)

Who are you such, spontaneous effect of presence?
Technology of modeling of dreams teaches long and laborious work: you want to dream about a certain subject, a certain person, to appear in a certain place – first diligently think what you want to see before going to bed, keep it in attention focus any time and two, you look at the 100-th it will turn out, and it doesn;t exist.
- I am glad you again to welcome.
- Oleg, I …
- Be not afraid. Where-where, and here nothing threatens you. Do you want to get acquainted with inhabitants of my sea?
- Do you have the whole sea?
- Generally it same your as mine – it is ours.
- Then yes, I want, - I answered I, perceiving dream matter on a picture of objective reality.
One of sets of unfamiliar streets of the deserted city was painted by the low concrete fountain of gray color hiding a glass old-fashioned glass under bed curtains of the bubbling streams. Having taken it it departed approximately on meter.
- Only don;t look in reflection.
- Agreed.
The water poured by circular movements on asphalt laid down ideally round pool which metal the reflecting surface reminded mercury.
- Take off an undershirt, put nearby and jump on a pool.
- To remove that …
- No, any got wet dry. Things have property to return in a starting point of sending. You won;t leave – you won;t return from swimming.
Having left an undershirt asphalt I began to jump on a pool. One jump, the second, and on the third under legs didn;t remain its viscous pliable waters any more, there was no stone soil left also. The green space of the underwater kingdom an instinctive delay of breath dumbfounded search of a surface.
- Breathe, you have gills.
It didn;t make sense to look round and for it under water because the voice measured distinctness reached from my head, directly from reason depths, in dialogue intertwining with thoughts. One breath, then the second – to breathe water appeared as easy as shelling pears. Black-black, viscous-viscous, silent-silent shadows of fishes, whales, dolphins, killer whales floated through me, swam away in me and equally well came up back. Several minutes later the picture of the hospitable warm waters inhabited by shadows was wound off back as a videotape, having ended rewind by return to a mirror pool.
- Now that;s something like it.
- I knew, it will be pleasant to you. – He didn;t take eyes with me.
Spiritualized me I involved strange rustle. Deeply elderly woman went absent-mindedly sclerous gait along the motionless avenue.
- Gr-r-r-r, - he said by an inhuman voice, having forced it to disappear.
- This sound, even goosebumps.
- I her was a worm with the head and feelers of an octopus, otherwise she in a dream would choke.
- Didn;t understand, you can accept any shape?
- Only, to wake the person facing death.
It is not a dream - it is bigger a dream.
- Teach me to spill a glass of water, - I shy asked.
- Correctly I will teach to spill the portal at first you to walks on water.
Having woken up squeezed out as a lemon I found myself on a floor near a bed.

Метки: prose do not look into mirrors

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The first experience

Воскресенье, 15 Марта 2026 г. 02:00 + в цитатник

В колонках играет - Hallucinogen - Live On 106.8 (1998 - Moscow, Russia)

Настроение сейчас - Mystical

1.
The first experience (700x393, 229Kb)

- What do you want from me? Why do you go for me to popyata, you spy when I wash and you send dreadful dreams about as if I tear apart dogs and cats on a part at night, eating their interiors? I don;t understand you. It is sure, you are very deep, mild essence, but … What do you want? – Lips were moved by itself that evening when I stayed at home one again.
Parents left for the whole month. At last I could light, sit down at the new story about Oleg and Dimetra;s adventures quietly. On the twentieth page of the thirteenth part of the Sit-round gathering the story clogged, in an empty pate there were no thoughts, four o;clock in the morning showed hours. I smoked one more cigarette, stretched having felt an ache in a numb back and decided to lie down. Light burned in the room in all lamps and I don;t remember as failed in a dream.
Gray concrete walls of the rainy city framed emptiness and silence of this strange place. I right there found a look the only inhabitant. It was it. It! That Oleg Kovalyov, which I saw him when writing stories.
- Hi, Dimeter. – Its androgenic voice expressed friendliness. – I waited for you one million years.
- Oleg? – the lips shivering with fear I whispered.
- Look, I learned! – He precisely as my hero blinked the eyes and grew stout in the most cunning smile.
- Went, - he gave a hand.
The vivacity surprised him if it is so possible to be expressed GENUINENESS. He wasn;t viscous from an ektoplazma as it happens at tactile contact with ghosts, it wasn;t cold as frozen glasses of winter trams. It was the living, real person who took me is careful by hand to show round the city. Behind an exception absence of people, except us, and electricity the city looked is realistic to it is impossible: the damp warm asphalt of the street, postrain freshness dressed in the forged fences blossoming red record players a bindweed, the blossoming roses and a huge pool. Instinctively I hung the head, to look in its water, and he drew aside me and from all force on its hypothetical reflection so that it wasn;t just painted by ripples, and razbryznutsya by the fast-evaporating drops on hot asphalt.
- Never try to look here in mirrors and other reflecting surfaces, - he strictly warned.
- Why? – I didn;t keep from a question before the opened look.
The street conducted to the wide highway, on both sides ogoorozhdenny a barbed wire, proceeding leaving also on both sides for the horizon is dazzling yellow sand instead of the earth.
- You won;t like what you will see.
- And …
- Yes. – he read my thoughts. – And you any more never here will return.
- It is your city? From a surplus of questions the head was turned (I want to ask it so much!).
- No, it is our world.
- It is real? – I was stunned to a limit.
- Only for you.
- And you are real?
- Only for you.
It was not the dream – it was something bigger, than a dream. Dreams, regardless of positivity or negativity, are identical with a strong current. Dreams as if pick up and carry away also you not in forces of nothing to control. Here I for all hundred percent realized: I sleep, in reality my body peacefully snores on a bed and in too time of the highway shrouded in sand and It.
- We possess all this world, the wonderful world?
- Yes, the Dimeter it is ours. And we can walk some here, nobody will prevent. You though run though jump though get into fountains though shout in всесь the thin children;s voice – nobody will tell anything to you against.
- And I …
- Yes, you can come here when you want, - again, having read my thoughts, it interrupted.
Having woken up I felt terrible weakness in all body, bones ached, and in hands and ногав there were no forces to move at all.

Метки: prose Do Not Look into Mirrors

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