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Змеи и шляпы

Published by
boris kislitsin
 in memory. 0 Comments

Есть такая игра, змеи и шляпы. Я играл в нее в детстве. Бросая игральные кости на доску, нужно переместиться на какое то количество клеток, пытаясь достичь Идеала, и при этом не быть укушенным змеей и не наступить на шляпу, которая возвращает игрока на определенное количество шагов назад, как учитель возвращает к столу ученика с невыученным уроком. Идеал можно передвигать: делать дальше и ближе. Шляпы раскладываются игроками. Дороги к идеалу также прокладываются самими игроками. Есть дороги простые и есть длинные, есть легкие и есть сложные. По ходу продвижения по одной из таких дорог я наступил на подобие такой шляпы, подложенной мной самим какое то время назад. Единственное, что вместо фишки на поле, меня переместили во времени, и мое существо оказалось вне контекста, как рыбешка, выброшенная на парапет канала в незнакомом городе. В изъеденном молью времени отеле, пропахавшем кошачьей мочой, куреными сигаретами и бездельем; в лифте, в котором чувствуешь себя пойманной канарейкой; на кипящей шумом жизни улице; в вагоне метро, залепленном рекламными плакатами и галдящими пассажирами; на скамейке у моста в парке, засиженной мухами и прохожими; в очереди за дешевыми сигаретами, контрабандой из Филиппин; в кафе, устававшись в экран телевизора с сериалом на непонятном языке, я не могу избавиться от неприятного чувства, что все происходящее происходит не со мной.

Я существую как часы, показывающие несуществующее ни в одном часовом поясе время. Все, что принято называть жизнью, все, что я вижу, слышу, чувствую, я пропускаю через себя без разбора, как провод пропускает ток; все представляется не как оно есть, не в том состоянии, в котором оно пребывает, когда я его не ощущаю, а принимает гротескные формы, искривляясь и коверкая и себя, и свои отражения, превращаясь в несуразицу.

Boris Kislitsin 

 

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The Dog Days of Music

Published by
Jacob Haqq-Misra
 in dream. 0 Comments

A friend and I meet at a house to jam with some new people. My dad drops me off after a bit of a drive, and I am struck by the nearly identical nature of this house to the one I grew up in–even the outside colors are the same–though as I walk through the garage, I notice the concrete bricks along the foundation are differently patterned. The main floor of the house looks just like my own home from childhood as well, including even the addition we built on to our kitchen over ten years after constructing the house!

We go down to the basement (which looks completely different) to set up and meet our new musician friends: a brother and sister who seem a little straight-edge. I met them online recently because they, like me, enjoy listening to SwissGroove streaming radio, and a few of the cover songs we play sound like music fit for that station. I bring my percussion rig along but leave my congas and bongos at home as I didn’t quite know what to expect, but even with reduced equipment it takes me well into the first song to set up. I also bring my pipe, still half-packed, but decided these two were not into that at all and let it stay in the plastic bag of my belongings. After awhile I notice some advertising posters in the basement, and it seems like these people are members of the band Belle and Sebastian.

The house also boasts a collection of small, shaggy and annoying dogs. These dogs possess sharp claws and bad tempers and get upset very easily, becoming aggressive and latching on to your hand, leg, or anything else they grab. They seem to receive enough attention yet act as if they desperately need more. I cannot stand these dogs.

After jamming I sit in a couch, still in the basement, to watch a Yankees baseball game. I stay under a blanket to protect myself from dog attacks–with reasonable success until the game ends and their dad comes home. As he and I chat the dogs return, angrily jump on the couch and blanket, and proceed to bite, claw, and generally make life miserable.

I really hate these dogs.

Jacob Haqq-Misra

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Cookie Volcano

Published by
Jacob Haqq-Misra
 in dream. 2 Comments

My brother and I are in a huge retail warehouse. We spend time looking around, trying to purchase a particular Super Nintendo game my brother wants. We manage to find several copies of the game–many of which are just being unloaded, still shrink-wrapped–but we cannot figure out how to purchase it; there are no check-out registers in this warehouse. This does not appear to be a place for shopping, yet no one seems to care that we are perusing the aisles.

My brother finally asks one of the people working: this man in a suit pulls out a laptop and offers to ring us up, with a small $0.20 fee to cover data transfer costs. My brother explores the warehouse to find what he wants and returns with a chocolate chip cookie! We decide to search for more cookies only to learn that most of the cookies come from a hidden cookie volcano deep beneath the warehouse, through a dangerous path. The workers try and dissuade us, but we decide to go for it.

As soon as I open the door, I hear a familiar voice as I see the red metallic image of Roberto–the knife-wielding robot from the cartoon Futurama–charging at me. I barely manage to keep the door shut on him, and eventually he goes away. Going down the stairs we meet and join Yoshi, the small dinosaur, who helps us navigate. The first several rooms we cross resemble two-dimensional side-scroller games, as we have to carefully jump over obstacles, climb barriers, and avoid enemies moving in predictable patterns.

We soon continue to a more dungeon-like journey through rooms, meeting more familiar people (including friends from Minnesota) and finding all sorts of interesting and potentially useful items. We journey deeper and deeper beneath the warehouse, never certain how far this elusive cookie volcano lay; nevertheless, though we cannot say when we will arrive or what lurks beyond, at least we are prepared for when the time finally comes.

Jacob Haqq-Misra

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What makes you happy?

Published by
boris kislitsin
 in memory. 0 Comments

Our life depends on our perception of reality. I do not remember if I told you the story of Jacob’s girlfriends’ uncle. He is serving few life sentences in America. 30 years ago before getting there he was a well known brain surgeon. He divorced his wife and left his former family and grown up children for another woman. His first wife was found dead shortly afterwards. The circumstances of her death were not clear. Some people say he was accused in murder by his children who wanted revenge and money. Indeed, he was rich. Whatever happened, if he killed her or not, nobody can tell anything now for sure – things can terrible mesh up and become very confusing in 30 years time.
In jail he learnt Jewish, Torah and became a rabbi.
When Jacob and his girlfriend went to see him, he was a very old man, in his early eighties. He told them that in the last few years his life dramatically changed to better. Apparently, they moved him to another cell, so he could see a tree from his window instead of brick wall now.

Continue reading ‘What makes you happy?’

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