#баловство
#goinggoinggone
#trappedintheamberofthismoment
It took me a long while to start listening to music while walking, but I never really got used to it. A proper tune blasting through one's ears creates an overwhelming sense of division. Reality splits into two equally incomplete parts: one moves around, shines and blinds with deep summery colors, rushes by and catches you in its wake, sends you spinning around in familiar circles of home, commute, work, party, cab, home; the other one moves you along the bars of the melody, takes you away from colorful objects that strive to rush past you, gives you strength to pick your own direction. Yet once in an eternity of missteps and offbeats, the two worlds come in perfect synchronicity, creating a movie-like flashback: suddenly there's nothing but a small wooden bridge across an outright lazily-flowing creek. I sit on the railing, my hands feeling its wooden texture through thick burgundy paint; I watch petals of apple blossoms and numerous insects stuck to the gleaming surface of the water. The sun is hanging high behind my back, white-hot, yet frozen in place: a sunset that wouldn't come. Its rays pierce me right between the shoulder-blades, burning away any stray feeling of loneliness that the divided world might have instilled in me. A green-headed drake dives from the fluorescent air and lands with a splash loud enough to be heard over the music that never stopped; spraying my immaculately white sneakers with green drops like diamonds interlaced with mud and peat. I snap off a twig of lilac and breathe in the summery sweetness, just as the song ends and the world comes apart again, leaving me stranded on a wooden bridge painted a deep burgundy, between the banks that are not there, my back to the sun that wouldn't move on.
#goinggoinggone
#trappedintheamberofthismoment
It took me a long while to start listening to music while walking, but I never really got used to it. A proper tune blasting through one's ears creates an overwhelming sense of division. Reality splits into two equally incomplete parts: one moves around, shines and blinds with deep summery colors, rushes by and catches you in its wake, sends you spinning around in familiar circles of home, commute, work, party, cab, home; the other one moves you along the bars of the melody, takes you away from colorful objects that strive to rush past you, gives you strength to pick your own direction. Yet once in an eternity of missteps and offbeats, the two worlds come in perfect synchronicity, creating a movie-like flashback: suddenly there's nothing but a small wooden bridge across an outright lazily-flowing creek. I sit on the railing, my hands feeling its wooden texture through thick burgundy paint; I watch petals of apple blossoms and numerous insects stuck to the gleaming surface of the water. The sun is hanging high behind my back, white-hot, yet frozen in place: a sunset that wouldn't come. Its rays pierce me right between the shoulder-blades, burning away any stray feeling of loneliness that the divided world might have instilled in me. A green-headed drake dives from the fluorescent air and lands with a splash loud enough to be heard over the music that never stopped; spraying my immaculately white sneakers with green drops like diamonds interlaced with mud and peat. I snap off a twig of lilac and breathe in the summery sweetness, just as the song ends and the world comes apart again, leaving me stranded on a wooden bridge painted a deep burgundy, between the banks that are not there, my back to the sun that wouldn't move on.
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Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Егор Юрескул
