Tag Archive for 'childhood'

Zodiac killer code: mapping the way to Sirius

Published by
boris kislitsin
 in memory. 0 Comments

 I have an avid interest in cyphers and codes stretching back to my childhood. I guess it started when a teacher in our school read us, 8 year old second graders, a story about how Lenin tricked intelligence agents from “okhranka” (tsarist secret service).  Yep, this was a story from Russian language textbooks for the 2 grade. I know it sounds insane and weird, but we had many stories in our books about Great patriotic war, communist revolution and Lenin: how he liked kids, or made a friend with illiterate bricklayer, who didn’t know whom he spoke to, etc. It was in the beginning of 80’s in the Soviet Union, and school education was a part of global brainwashing program, I believe. I have no regrets though, as we had great time at school, education was free and very good and that stories in the textbooks were interesting.Back to the cyphers. That story about Lenin and okhranka agents contained some references to the simple way of coding, by book, and the way to do so. Apparently if you use milk instead of ink for writing, nobody can see what there’s something written.  To see the message you should hold the page above heat for a while, and transparent lines will become visible. So while in prison Lenin could communicate in this way: he’d shape some bread as ink-pot, pour milk in there and write with it; after he’d finish he’d eat his “inkpot” (milkpot?) and “ink” left; having a nice meal of milk and bread. Secret agents never could catch him; moreover, in such a manner he wrote a couple of books in between lines of some French novels he was allowed to read.I loved this story. Soon I started to research and develop cyphers and ways of communication with my friends, our neighbours kids myself. To omit details, I even took a course on structural linguistics/cracking cyphers at university later. It was very exciting indeed, and I was happy to learn from one of the students of prof. Yuri Knorozov, who amongst other things decyphered Mayan script and later on his life “located” mythical place of origin of Meso-American people, known as Chichomoztoc, which is slightly out of scope of this post, though a very fascinating subject. So I’ll put a picture here, but won’t tell you why at this point:

ToltecaChichimeca_Chicomostoc

 The seven caves of Chicomoztoc, from Historia Tolteca-Chichimeca.

Continue reading ‘Zodiac killer code: mapping the way to Sirius’

Other posts by boris kislitsin

My first memory of poo

Published by
grogan
 in memory. 0 Comments

Hello, I just had a look around Memorycemetery site, and found this memory by Tengu, called “Poo”. In this post Tengu says that she would like to find out if somebody else says sorry or thank you when they do poo. Well, I do sometimes. Moreover, there’s a site dedicated to poo, it called www.poopreport.com. I guess everybody interested in the subject can just have a look or contribute :) … Anyway, I would like to share my poo memory here too. Actually, I reprint it from PoopReport, but nevermind.

This is not the earliest memory I have, but it is one of the most vivid. When I was five I used to run around the house in my undies. (Ever since, I’ve always felt more comfortable and relaxed in them — which has led to some interesting moments when roommates have come home early from a trip or didn’t bother to tell me that they took the day off of work.) And back when I was five, I had this toy box — well, not really a box, but a giant plastic football. Now that I think about it, it kinda looked like a giant turd that had a hole on the top through which you would access the toys inside.We were living with my grandparents, as my mom and dad had recently divorced. My mom and I had to share the upstairs back bedroom. She was pretty good about it, as she was really only ever in the room at night to sleep; during the day I was allowed to play in there “quietly.”

I don’t recall exactly why that when I had to poop I didn’t just go to the bathroom. Instead, I choose to hold it. More than likely, I was probably just having a grand old time playing. So, sitting in that room dimly lit by the sun coming in through the window, wearing nothing but my favorite pair of Superman Underoos (I may have to find adult versions of these one day just to freak out my girl), holding in my poo, it happened. I was playing with Lego’s and Matchbox Cars, and when I moved to get more cars from the toy football, I suddenly had a giant turd in my underwear.

I didn’t want to say anything or get caught for fear of getting in trouble. I was getting in trouble a lot around that time for not having to pee before a car trip and then pissing my pants because I really did have to go. So I reached in through the front of my Roo’s and pulled out this turd that was bigger than my hand. I remember making a fist with my other hand and comparing them. Continue reading ‘My first memory of poo’

Other posts by grogan

An Ornamental Remembery

Published by
Sheila Ryan
 in memory. 0 Comments

Remembery’s Rick Neece posted a charming photograph of a Christmas tree ornament at clusterflock, and the sight sparked a remembery of my own favorite childhood ornament, “Two-Star Hennessy”. Two-Star Hennessy was a golden ball figured with two glittering pink stars, one centered in each hemisphere. (Its name, bestowed by my father, referred to Hennessy cognac; two stars perhaps designated V.S.)

I must have been four (perhaps I was five) when Two-Star Hennessy’s spell so enchanted me that I hooked it over my ear (to this day I love big dramatic earrings) and whirled about the living room in a dizzy waltz.

And shattered Two-Star Hennessy.

I felt as though a shard of rose-gold glass had pierced my heart.

But you know what? Come next Christmas (or maybe it was that very same Yule), another Two-Star Hennessy appeared on our tree. Thus did I learn of mass production, and with that knowledge came a slight but perceptible rift between my household world and the realm of enchantment.

(Cross-posted at Remembery)

Sheila Ryan 

Other posts by Sheila Ryan

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 

 

Other posts by boris kislitsin

« Previous Entries