#hereartomyheart
#баловство
#искушениепопсой
In the sun-flooded Moscow evening of July 29th, the feeling of that summer coming to a grinding halt was ubiquitous. Like a train stopping for maintenance after a two-day rainstorm, reality was shakily slowing down around me, making my body feel the years of self-indulgence and lack of discipline that I have embraced in order to never let a colourful moment go by without leaving a memento in the cellars of memory. At the same time I was so inescapably young that day, my childish, pre-teen conscience piercing through layer upon layer of serious adult things that were so much fun to do when I finally left my parents' house. It was as though a much younger me, pulled through time into that late summer, kept running around me, determined to do things that were natural for a ten-year-old. Practice movie Kung Fu stances with an even smaller kid brandishing a twig like a Bo staff. Get into a courtyard football game and get infinitely stuck on goalkeeping duty for being too clumsy, make excuses to get switched with a forward player, then get shamefully put back between the goal posts to ponder upon the clash of individual goals versus collective goals. Try to secretly light a stolen cigarette just around the corner, feel the bitter taste of tobacco smoke on the tongue and vow to never touch that disgusting shit again. Boast a torrent of unimaginatively combined swear words to a playmate who takes seriously his mother's wisdom that swearing is bad. Lean back on a bench by the cooler, older teenagers to show off the mellowness of character, get very secretly and politely laughed at, then proceed running around crouched, pushing toy cars along driveways drawn with chalk on the sidewalk, making motor noises until completely out of breath. Get into a screaming match with one of the innumerable grandmothers, great-aunts and aunts watching from the third-floor windows, beg for another half-hour outside despite the gathering dark. Bump into my older, current self as we both stare at a flock of swallows circling above rooftops, then run off to watch PSI Factor before finally getting into bed; leaving the tired, yet still impossibly young me to sit on a low fence, smoking and waiting for the world to move again.
#баловство
#искушениепопсой
In the sun-flooded Moscow evening of July 29th, the feeling of that summer coming to a grinding halt was ubiquitous. Like a train stopping for maintenance after a two-day rainstorm, reality was shakily slowing down around me, making my body feel the years of self-indulgence and lack of discipline that I have embraced in order to never let a colourful moment go by without leaving a memento in the cellars of memory. At the same time I was so inescapably young that day, my childish, pre-teen conscience piercing through layer upon layer of serious adult things that were so much fun to do when I finally left my parents' house. It was as though a much younger me, pulled through time into that late summer, kept running around me, determined to do things that were natural for a ten-year-old. Practice movie Kung Fu stances with an even smaller kid brandishing a twig like a Bo staff. Get into a courtyard football game and get infinitely stuck on goalkeeping duty for being too clumsy, make excuses to get switched with a forward player, then get shamefully put back between the goal posts to ponder upon the clash of individual goals versus collective goals. Try to secretly light a stolen cigarette just around the corner, feel the bitter taste of tobacco smoke on the tongue and vow to never touch that disgusting shit again. Boast a torrent of unimaginatively combined swear words to a playmate who takes seriously his mother's wisdom that swearing is bad. Lean back on a bench by the cooler, older teenagers to show off the mellowness of character, get very secretly and politely laughed at, then proceed running around crouched, pushing toy cars along driveways drawn with chalk on the sidewalk, making motor noises until completely out of breath. Get into a screaming match with one of the innumerable grandmothers, great-aunts and aunts watching from the third-floor windows, beg for another half-hour outside despite the gathering dark. Bump into my older, current self as we both stare at a flock of swallows circling above rooftops, then run off to watch PSI Factor before finally getting into bed; leaving the tired, yet still impossibly young me to sit on a low fence, smoking and waiting for the world to move again.
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Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Егор Юрескул
