You will not believe it: 1) Coolositable is still alive and 2) Santa Claus does indeed include Japan. As we have been utterly busy for the past few months we haven’t updated our blog. But here’s a new positive post.
Balthazar – e.g. I – loves Christmas. Gaining weight by stuffing myself up with cookies – both eating and peeling tangerines – exchanging gifts unilaterally or nonlaterally – dumping dead corpses into pumpkin soup – drinking Ginger Vodka on the snow (not rocks) – throwing snowballs at passing cars and passers-by are only the most prominent examples of activities to make the season bright. And last but most definitely not least: Throwing snowballs at self-proclaimed ‘world leaders’ in Davos (well only in January). What’s more, there might be French and Arab kisses, consensual sex under/against/beyond the Christmas tree and Santa cleaning your chimney. You know, just love.
Obviously you’ve noticed the lack in content. What I really want to grace this blog/post with is this present, making a substantiated argument that custard-pie battles have indeed become a part of J-Pop Christmas. And nothing more.
I wish everyone a happy passing of the most materialistic season, coherence and that you may find the inspiration to build snowmen and -women (if possible in your climate zone).
Love and gingerbread is sent to you by
As you may have noticed, there has been a significant break since we, or, speaking more precisely, I have given birth to another bunch of meaningless letters and punctuation marks, taking away your free time. We, the proud parents of this little chamber of graphorrea, have some difficult time with our offspring. The eternal problem of fathers and sons, meh.
But let’s forget about these small and senseless details and take a breathtaking journey to the land where even the almighty, solid as a rock, laws of Their Majesty Physics don’t work. The time and space, space especially, bend. The reality as we all know it loses familiar shapes.
I am talking about metro at 8:30 in the morning.
The first rule of Moscow metro in these ungodly hours is, you do not even think of using it if you are not rushing to save the world from the invation of zombie radioactive rabbits. The second rule of Moscow metro is, these is not a coach existing in the world that cannot fit one more person. This “one more person” is the most ephemeral substance in any of the parallel universes, even more ephemeral than a student’s loan.
Too much people, too much. And you were trying so hard to convince me that overpopulation is not the first problem of our little green planet.
Speaking of little green things, I have found a way to at least take a breath or avoid being stuck in a dramatic pose. Starting to laugh hard or sing “La Marsellaise” out of key automatically creates space around you, restoring the physical harmony at least a little. See, making other people think you are completely insane has serious benefits.
But you, my dear reader, may already be submerged in doubts about the reason why your humble key pusher writes these anthropological notes, besides of anthropological notes and scenes from the Land of Absurd as a purpose itself. What is the idea, you ask yourself. And the idea, instead of propagandizing the use of condoms and all this prosaic bullshit, is the following: there is no idea. Ta-dah.
Just if someone decides to describe the deformation of space in a metro coach in the early morning with Physics, then I know who gets this year’s Nobel Prize. Don’t forget to mention me in your speech.
Hellow agaen froam the Lande of Absourd. As you all know, I reely love talking about my countrey’s phenomena – how can I not talk about paradoxes and absourd, absourd and paradoxes!
This time I thouht that it woud be aproupriate to raise the question of langvages. Yes. Langvages. Especialy one, and you all can guess what exuctly: the almigty Inglish Langvage. (My exsitement as I write this word, blesed by all the deities, is so big that I can not hold on to start “Langvage” with a capitol leter)
The Inglish Langvage. All Russians start to tremble as they heer these wondarful words. How many teers are shed above the textbuks during the scoolyears of every Russian! How many unhuman sufers are expirienced by all of us! How many sweerwords directed to the creators of latin alfabet and/inglish gramar are pronounsed by everyone! And the horrid sound “θ” – the persoan who invented it was morally depraved, I sweer.
We, the poor adherents of Cyrilic alfabet, are unabel to achiev a good level in Inglish – genetics are a powerfull thing. But we are strugling and strugling and strugling throuh the years and time. We’re reeching out for the skyes of lingvistics, whear the birds always sing and jasmin always blosoms, but despiet of our wishes we cannot touch them. It raises complecses in us. We’re very ashamed to speak the celestiel Inglish Langvage, but the sever realities of moderne lief force us. And we take atempts.
And then the whol wourld laughs at us. It is unfaire. Reely unfaire to laught at somwone who tries.