My Vermont Vacation

my vermont vacation - view from an eagle's nest


Yesterday I returned from my Vermont vacation, and today I am so hungover that I can’t eat (it’s 7 PM now). The combination of these two facts is largely responsible for a somewhat uncharacteristic decision of mine to write an account on how my vacation went. It is uncharacteristic for two reasons. First, I generally tend to avoid commemorating reality in word (even when I use real events for my writing I modify them so that they’d better suit my creative objectives). Second, I believe my experiences should be kept private: as I found on multiple occasions, even after a most thorough and painstaking rendering of them the abstract crux of the issue (the main reason why I considered the experience worth narrating) invariably eludes my audience, no matter how loyal it is. However, it is also extremely rare that I get drunk, especially so much as to not be able to recover from the debauchery for so long, so overall the circumstances seem not only propitious but begging to indulge in another liberty: this time an intellectual one. Let’s get it started, then, and I hope that by the end of this journey I will bring at least some order to my otherwise rambling and exhausted mind. Continue reading

The Only Muse

I heard somewhere that Buddha did not refuse the poisoned food just because he did not want to upset the giver who was completely clueless. I was no Buddha, and she poured the poison into my wine with her own hand, but could I still drink it? Could I really die just to avoid killing her? I was thinking about it with some feverish incoherence, flouncing from one unpredictable extreme to another, but alas, the answer remained the same. I could not, no matter how much I wanted. Not even because I was holding a grudge against her for this treacherous act which must have seemed so significant to her. I had no negative emotions toward her whatsoever, unless we take pity for one. She was only doing what she had to in order for us to take respective places in each other’s fates: the places that were predetermined by the limits of our desires. And this was exactly why I could not drink the poison she brought me. Yes, I considered this woman the paragon of all the best in me: my creativity, that is. Yes, for me she was that very ideal imperfection which squeezes from the mind everything it is capable of. And yes, even if I were led to the scaffolds right now I would not stop believing that everything I wrote under her influence not simply deserved a place in the pantheon of classical literature, but had to sit at its very top, patiently explaining to the geniuses of the past where exactly they fell an inch too short… And yet I could not seal this marvelous script by giving up my impeccable life for this heartless muse, even in such an inimitable way, because I knew this height was not my limit. Though even the ultimate one couldn’t cost me more.

“What shall we drink to?” she asked so innocently that tears welled up in my eyes.

“To you, of course,” I said with a sad sigh. “To the only muse in the Universe I wanted to die for.”

Short Poems

We’re flying lower, we’re flying higher:
A fall becomes a command to soar.
She went for cash, but myself’s no buyer:
I never cancelled my hopes for more.
Perhaps I ought to await the morning,
It may surrender the missing clue.
This girl is always a healthy warning;
I know she’s crazy: at least she’s true.

A Heartless Muse

A Heartless Muse


Grabbing the gunned and guarded,
Making a twisted blend…
Where do I even start it?
How do I even end?
Should I perhaps already
Quit… but it is too late:
Such an erratic steady’s
Nothing to adumbrate.


I’ve gone in all directions,
Putting on empty shelves
Mirrors with bent reflections
Of our crooked selves.
Now I curtail the pendants:
Time will be not enough
To overcome the remnants
Of an unheard of love.


Maybe I’m too exacting?
Maybe I’m simply wrong?
Given from birth to acting,
Facing the lasting throng,
I am a harsh director
Staging a shattered dream,
Taught by the grasp to vector
Consciousness to a stream.


Set it alight, my duchess;
Make this virage a verse.
You are the fuel: such is
Your venerated hearse.
You are becoming nervous:
Why, fear’s always rife.
Is there a better purpose
For an unequaled life?


What is it that is dear
In a predicted game?
Stop, you will never near
All you’re about to name.
Down with the cove concealment,
Down with the splendid past:
Pause the elusive film and
Look at yourself, at last.

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A Million for Eleanor – Excerpts

This picture was taken on a phone

Excerpt 1

When Eleanor returned, wearing a dark blue dress and sapphire earrings, he was still reading, looking like a monk immersed in the Bible. For a couple of seconds she stood still, waiting for him to notice her, but, even though he saw her out of the corner of his eye, he did not move, fearing he wouldn’t be able to meet her eyes in the way he wanted.

“I am ready,” Eleanor said finally, having grown tired of waiting.

He closed the book and looked at her.

“You sure are,” he said.

He didn’t believe what he saw, but that very fact was the most reliable reality check he could have. In a mere hour, Eleanor had transformed herself from a housewife forced to deal with an uninvited guest into a heroine of a suspense thriller which had to end in at least one horrific death. Judging by how much sharper her facial features shined, she must have put on a lot of makeup, but, had it not been for his sister’s words that suddenly surfaced in his head, it would not even occur to him to seek the roots of Eleanor’s stupendous beauty in artificiality. She looked like an empress preparing to step into the center of attention, her every move showing that she was ready to rule anyone and anything, with or without mercy, and the sphere that duly stirred inside, this time around the solar plexus, reminded him there was only one man who could match this unconquerable image of hers.

“Excellent choice, darling, but isn’t this blue shot with violet?” he asked in mock urgency.

Eleanor gave her dress a quick look.

“Is there something wrong?”

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Cocaine Tonight

The Best Story I Have Ever Heard

I was dishwashing at the Miami motel I was staying in because I had no money to pay for it. The shift had just started, but I grew sick of it and stepped outside for a smoke. As I lit a cigarette, I saw a black guy passing by. Our eyes met, and he grinned at me. Then he approached me and said: “Hey, man, can I bum a cig off of you?” I offered him the pack; he helped himself to it and lit one as well.

He asked me why I was wearing an apron, and I told him. He said he came to visit his friends, but they were all gone. Then he said: “Hey, wanna go clubbing?” I said “Sure.” He said: “When’s your shit over?” I said, “Ten”. He said he’d be back to pick me up and I thought he lied, but when I took off the apron and came outside two hours later he was waiting for me in his car.

We went to a club, girls scattered all over the place, and when we got there he took me straight to the bathroom. This was the strangest bathroom I’ve ever seen. At least half a dozen people were there, and they were all doing drugs.

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The Queen on the River: a Poker Story

The Queen on the River

a poker story


Call me Theodore. Some time ago, never mind when precisely, I woke up early in the morning, all alone, sober and sombre, put my jacket on, grabbed my suitcase and went out of doors with the firm intention to get to the port. I met a pair of funeral processions before I had to take the first turn and two weddings after that. A trio of schoolgirls burst into laughter when I stumbled and nearly fell on the subway stairs; I blew them a kiss and their pretty faces flushed red.

Five minutes later I saw the building of NYSE. The house was already full of empty people who had nothing better to do than to deal with someone else’s stakes and hope they wouldn’t go aflop at once. I smiled to myself: I knew there was at least one free spot inside.

I kept walking, breathing greedily in and out. I could already smell the water and wanted to stamp the stepping on solid ground into my memory. Then I slowed down and looked around. My attention was caught by four bearded priests in long black soutanes sitting on a wooden bench. They all looked at me with reproach. It required a strong moral principle to prevent me from knocking their hideous hats off, but I stood the test and moved on.

I knew I could catch the sight of the liner any moment, so I slowed down more: not to torture myself, but because something urged me to. I was now passing a small casino, an antithesis of shiny monsters from Las Vegas, though adorned with an illuminated flight of stairs leading straight to its door.

I stopped, as if hitting an invisible wall, fished a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, lit one and took a deep drag, still staring at the stairs. I thought I’d make up my mind before I’d breathe the smoke out, but… a minute passed, then another one, then another, and then the second cigarette was lit…

… and then I told myself: “Theodore! Don’t you fucking dare! How many more excuses do you need to come up with? Why are you interested anyway? You don’t even like gambling.”

“Because,” I said after a pause, lighting the third cigarette, “I am not aboard yet. And when I am, there will be no more reason to try.”

I knew there was nothing to argue about, yet I was scared to instantaneously give up everything that had been planned. I was standing on the same spot, sick with nicotine, and couldn’t even shift from one foot to the other. I was trying to shut the doubts up, but it required more of my moral strength than letting the priests go. I closed my eyes and lift my head as if watching the skies; and then I said aloud:

“Listen. Stand on this very spot for a minute and wait for a sign. And if it comes, you better take it, whatever it is”.

And so I did, and when the minute was up I opened my eyes, looked around and saw the exact same picture I left sixty seconds ago.

The ship could have a safe voyage. I wasn’t ready to die yet.

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Urethral Vector – Vector Psychology

Urethral Vector

a translation of notes from Y. Burlan’s Vector Psychology
lectures on the Urethral Vector

Urethral Vector - Bill Clinton

Bill Clinton – 8-vectored

Urethral people often die from alcohol and drugs. They tend to move in space and time. Urethral vector is an achiever and is often shown on TV. Its role is to lead. Male Urethra represents the top of the hierarchy: the first right to eat and to impregnate.

The visible world exists in 4 Quadrants: Space (Skin Vector and Muscle Vector, eating), Time (Urethral Vector and Anal Vector, drinking), Information (Visual Vector and Sound Vector, sleeping) and Energy (Oral Vector and Olfactory Vector, breathing). Man is the supreme element, the most complex part of the Universe. Space is matter that has shape. There is no Muscle without Skin, and there is no Universe without Skin-Muscle. Matter is always in motion, and what we call time is the Time Quadrant. No one else divides time, why do men do? Because we are aware of the beginning and the end, of being limited by death. Past is preserved by the Anal vector; future is provided by the Urethral vector whose nature is to evolve. We can say that the future is guaranteed by the Urethral vector just as matter is guaranteed by the Muscle vector + Skin vector. Otherwise the Universe would have been static. It changes through what we understand by future. It is manifested in the following way: Anal vector lives in the present as if it were the past. Urethral Vector lives in the present as if it were the future. Continue reading

Olfactory Vector – Vector Psychology


A translation of notes taken during Y. Burlan’s Vector Psychology lectures on the Olfactory Vector

The Olfactory vector represents matter. Unlike Vision and Sound, it needs molecules of the physical. The Internet is a Sound response to the politics and finance, which are both Olfactory’s inventions.

The Olfactory measure begins with the physical world. The Olfactory vector protects and maintains its integrity and, at a certain point, starts developing our psyche.

The outside world is determined and regulated exclusively by smells; nothing else governs us. We are made into a group by smells: they make us behave toward each other in specific ways, as well as rank according to our natural status. Some part of information accumulated through the nose goes into the conscious, while another goes directly into the subconscious. This works for all vectors, but in the Olfactory it is of specific importance.

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Radiohead’s Alternative Lyrics

Karma Police by Radiohead

Alternative Lyrics

Karma police, stop shearing our fleece!
It’s so unfair:
You leave us bare
To fill your valise!

Karma police, pull up the coulisse
And show us sense,
Lest our release
Should be an expense!

Karma police, I spent all my time
On this endeavor.
I could weave and sever,
And even made it rhyme!

This is what you get
This is what you get
This is what you get
When you raid your head.

Original lyrics of Radiohead’s Karma Police

Author’s Explanation

I dislike Radiohead and sometimes my mind comes up with sardonic renditions of its songs and lyrics. Karma Police had annoyed me long before I discovered its conceptual premises from an acquaintance of mine, an ardent fan of Tom York’s works. Annoyance eventually resulted in this poem which I like not so much for the deliberate lack of poetic value but for its uninterrupted adhesion to the sentiment of the original.

by Danil Rudoy

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