#hereartomyheart
#баловство
#beforethemusicdies
A few years back, my awareness of the surrounding world stretched out in all directions. I could touch a tree on the other side of the road and hit my head on the cloud banks as I moved twitchily to the sound of jazzrock fusion. I felt so enormous it was rude to go outside and not cover myself up with something fancy to compensate for the sheer size of my own existence. So I went to a vintage store and bought an old grey felt fedora. The hat had been around for a while even back then; made somewhere in Eastern Europe; worn to almost transparent thinness in several places where previous owners held it against the wind. It was somewhat too large even for my then-oversized head, perfectly complementing the feeling that I wouldn't fit into public transport. I wore it everytime I left the house, regardless of any other clothes or the weather or what others might have thought of my weird taste in accessories. The weather was especially unforgiving that summer: it was probably the hottest August the city had known in very many years. Peat bogs seethed slowly and smokily in the surrounding woods, filling the air with silk-thin haze that made it hard to breathe. Mother even insisted that I wear a respirator, but I wore my fedora instead, even though it made my head melt from the heat. To everybody who'd ask, I would say it was unseemly for a gentleman to go outside without a hat. As months went by, the air grew colder and the peat fires went out one by one. The amount of space I occupied kept shrinking. I gave up jazz for pop music and the old classic hat for new, more fashionable ones, because the old one started to feel heavy. It was as if its age and raggedness started to demand from me a certain light-hearted attitude that would make a mockery of true November spirit that I couldn't allow to exist. And then my ears started burning from the frosty winds, so I had to give up on hats altogether. The old grey fedora still feels heavy on my head whenever I try it on. Almost like its worn fabric carries with it an old curse, a memory of the smoke-filled August when I could reach out and touch the sky, but chose to look silly instead.
#баловство
#beforethemusicdies
A few years back, my awareness of the surrounding world stretched out in all directions. I could touch a tree on the other side of the road and hit my head on the cloud banks as I moved twitchily to the sound of jazzrock fusion. I felt so enormous it was rude to go outside and not cover myself up with something fancy to compensate for the sheer size of my own existence. So I went to a vintage store and bought an old grey felt fedora. The hat had been around for a while even back then; made somewhere in Eastern Europe; worn to almost transparent thinness in several places where previous owners held it against the wind. It was somewhat too large even for my then-oversized head, perfectly complementing the feeling that I wouldn't fit into public transport. I wore it everytime I left the house, regardless of any other clothes or the weather or what others might have thought of my weird taste in accessories. The weather was especially unforgiving that summer: it was probably the hottest August the city had known in very many years. Peat bogs seethed slowly and smokily in the surrounding woods, filling the air with silk-thin haze that made it hard to breathe. Mother even insisted that I wear a respirator, but I wore my fedora instead, even though it made my head melt from the heat. To everybody who'd ask, I would say it was unseemly for a gentleman to go outside without a hat. As months went by, the air grew colder and the peat fires went out one by one. The amount of space I occupied kept shrinking. I gave up jazz for pop music and the old classic hat for new, more fashionable ones, because the old one started to feel heavy. It was as if its age and raggedness started to demand from me a certain light-hearted attitude that would make a mockery of true November spirit that I couldn't allow to exist. And then my ears started burning from the frosty winds, so I had to give up on hats altogether. The old grey fedora still feels heavy on my head whenever I try it on. Almost like its worn fabric carries with it an old curse, a memory of the smoke-filled August when I could reach out and touch the sky, but chose to look silly instead.
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Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Егор Юрескул
