classe de neige

I wish everyone on blog.co.uk a happy holiday. Whether you celebrate Xmas, Winter Solstice, Yule, Saturnalia or what have you. May this season fill you with joy…

a mystery story you can read here:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/06/29/bogygod~2539712
read the vampire story:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/07/01/vampire~2551799
a story about the homeless ones:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/willy_potter~2178021
fancy-pansy:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/04/14/fancy_pansy~2093231

the Solstice December 22, 06:08

The Earth in its orbit around the Sun causes the Sun to appear on the celestial sphere moving over the ecliptic (red), which is tilted on the equator (blue).
There is either an equinox (autumn and spring) or a solstice (summer and winter) on approximately the 21st day of the last month of every quarter of the calendar year. On a day which has an equinox, the center of the Sun will spend a nearly equal amount of time above and below the horizon at every location on Earth and night and day will be of nearly the same length. The word equinox derives from the Latin words aequus (equal) and nox (night).
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The lovely picture was sent to one yahoogroup, dedicated to one celebrity, where I am a member. And the celebrity congratulated us, sending the card. It is so kind of him. It makes me happy.
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upas
“But what is more important, Notre Dame,
your monstrous ribs I studied from the start
and oft I thought: I too will make fine art
from sturdy heaviness through which I came”.
*The Dome*
A church. I began with the open doors and windows. They emitted semi-darkness and wind; they pushed me away and sucked me in at the same time, tearing my essence to pieces. My essence cursed, but the voice from the dome said: “Hush, hush…” My essence put on a black robe and gloves. The shutters closed with a bang. The dome watched me unwinking so pityingly and so persistently that I could not endure its eye, and fell my own eye down on my toes. It was hard to my feet, and I, the eye’s owner flung it away. Not to see the treacherous-affectionate eyes of the dome I looked at the flickering candle-flame. The flame was so hot that my eye covered with hoarfrost. Not to put myself to the torture again I gave myself to the sympathy that outpoured from the dome. I guess, the dome was too wise, and now it watched somebody else. A red-haired woman. The woman responded so bravely that I felt like imitating her, and I attempted to bid defiance to the dome. The dome just smiled and yawned. And the church seemed to be a yawn. The church was bored with my timid, achromatic actions, and with its slight it left me outside and without my robe. Finding myself in the snowy street I shivered with cold, and went to somewhere.
(2006)
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ave sol!

* Gossamer*
The summer heat has given a way to the fresh coolness in this part of the world. The sun shines kindly, caressing your skin. The best season to meet the sea.
Usually I’m longing for the sea right after I’ve said good-bye to it. I’m in anticipation of our next meeting, our morning rendezvous, when having a cup of coffee at the verandah of the café. Days--when its roar is an accompaniment to my walk, like an organic soundtrack. Nights--covered in its salty mist. And there are the evening walks along the edge of the surf--the walks towards the sunset. The farewell party for the wearied sun is tradition. As soon as the sun disappears in the sea, darkness falls down on my shoulders, which is heavy and frightening at the first moment. But the hum of the waves calms. Their powerful attack to the sands gives a way to their lazy retreat. And the star-spangled sky. It’s cosy. After the walk, while enjoying the aroma and taste of coffee at the same café, I look up at the sky, awaiting a falling star, because its swift flight is a take-off of my hope of happiness.
The morning rendezvous with the sea. At the seaside I leave the arms of Morpheus as early as usual. It is so today. Sitting at table at the café I admire the dance of the sun-flecks over the surface of the becalmed sea. The interesting book and the nook are with me. The three of us enjoy. True, I don’t feel like reading, and I don’t feel like dreaming. I don’t feel like planning the day either. I wish only one thing: so that this sense of calm and appeasing, this dolce far niente would last.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
The echo of the question as the brash of my serenity falls down at my feet.
“?”
“You are right. It’s banal. I’ve hurried too much…”
“Indeed… Out of all banalities the question I love most is whether I like Brahms”.
“A sunbeam glimpses in your bleak eye. It’s so nice”. Inspired, the man rushed for attack, playing words, showing good knowledge of classic literature and modern day western prose. But before my mind the frightening pictures of the possible perspective rise like a kaleidoscope: there we are going along the water’s edge, hand in hand, exchanging stinging remarks from Wilde. We are going for an hour… for two hours. In three hours the brilliant Wilde sets our teeth on edge, suppressing emotions and drowning the noise of the sea. I respond constrainedly to the next witticism, praying mentally about changing the weather, about an opportunity to run away to my cosy apartment. The world of harmony collapses before my eyes, and I don’t know whom I hate more at the moment: Wilde or my companion.
“You don’t listen?..”
“No, I follow you!” I listen, listen to my mental voice. It cries out, wails, conjure, calls to prudence: “What for?! What for the man?! Drive him away! He will come after, demanding your attention…” Attention? Stop! I pay too much attention to him and to the talk at breakfast.
“You’ve looked at me so attentively. You don’t agree with Confucius?”
“Why I don’t agree? But… You wouldn’t argue that facts as such are not so important as attitude towards them, and a most disgusting fact, most unbelievable assumption might be justified and purified by an attitude towards it”. Disentangling I continue my inner dialogue, weighing pros and cons a change of the new sudden circumstances at my holyday.
“You are a wonderful woman! You can listen. Usually beautiful representatives of the fair sex prefer to speak”.
Giving an enigmatic smile I think: “Yes… Of course, I won’t explain that while listening I talk delightfully with myself. And a good talk with two companions at once is above my abilities”. And then I switch over to the mental dialogue entirely.
What, you are about to talk with yourself and the sea your holyday long?
What of it?
You’ve decided to read to your heart’s content? But you have no time to read all new books!
Well, we shall talk not only about books… And not only talk… This last statement evokes a slight agitation. Not only talk? But what else? Whether I need it whatever it is? No, I needn’t. I’ve come here to have a rest, to relax tension, to forget the tiresome association of the everyday life for a while; to keep silence, listening to the heartbeat of nature; to keep silence, enjoying the harmony of the world, not deformed by civilization; to keep silence along with the sea, to keep silence along with myself… to keep silence… It’s possible to keep silence in company of a man, but the man should be to my taste, whom I hear and understand without words. And this stranger is other. Begone! Begone!
I feverishly begin to choose effective phrase for banishment of the stranger. My noble indignation has inspired me. My breast heaves, my cheeks flush.
“I’m so glad that you share my opinion… The problem of the global warming hasn’t been solved, but the mankind hastens to draw the rush conclusions. It risks running into trouble. To say nothing of the bold deciphers of origin of tsunami…” He continues his burning speech, and I feel a mental devastation. Indifference. I feel like brushing away what’s going on. To throw off the unnecessary burden of the banal association. Miraculously I see myself walking along a pathway among the dunes. Towards the sea from my childhood. The Baltic Sea. It is not so warm as the southern one, but it is so beloved! The sunny day. The wood boards creak underfoot. I inhale the aroma of the pines. A whimsical curvature of a tree--I stop to admire it. And at the moment a gossamer touches my face. What a nuisance! To brush it away! To brush it away!
And I waved my hand to the waiter. Without paying attention to the cadences of the talk heard beside, I pay off silently, and brushing away the gossamer I go away to meet my appeasing.
(2006)

*Don’t seek to understand a woman. What if you’ll understand her?*
“The ear is the avenue to the heart”. So, loving with the ear, I’d like you to choose earrings for me. Do it long and carefully, and in the end, buy those pendents of small shells so that I could hear noise of the ocean when walking. This instant, in the opposite corner of the world I’m sitting on the shore of the bay, and in the noise of waves I hear your footsteps. A stranger from the deforested land, you take no notice of the rains, the people who look like wet birds, and the trees that look like people. One fine day you’ll touch a cup of hot tea and give a start seeing outside the window a snow-clad garden seat, forlorn and dead leaves gilded.
(2007)
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*les premieres neiges in the land of the hyperboreans*
winter…
w-i-n-t-e-r
The snow began to fall suddenly and as a snowfall. At least it seemed to be so for the first half an hour, because from the heaven, chasing each other, to meet the earth, roofs and me, the large snowflakes rushed, the white, cold pre-December kisses--and it was too late to call, imploring to put off the winter’s coming at least till tomorrow, for it had entered the town. Delightful. No fairy-tale than this sparking snow dust from the dreamy patterned pillow, which somebody above plumped up now. The usual tenderness in my insides turned into vanilla ice-cream; the bits of the coming winter powder my hair and eyelashes, lay down on my lips, and looking skywards for the last time they melted, being unable to accept another love but their own, crystal and pale, being devoted to he who haughtily poured them in silence… I straightened my scarf and went slowly towards my house.
It’s not time for falling in love.
The street lamps nodded and sighed:
“One should wait…”
to wait…
w-i-n-t-e-r
winter…
The pompous town cafes are crowded. Moscow glam and loads of tundra, or rather Moscow glam which is loads of tundra. You are sitting vis-à-vis. You are too young, indecently young for me. I admire your large forehead, your beautiful nose, your chiseled chin and the curves of your lips. The curves of your lips can rewrite history. You are looking at me, and I can’t make out what you think of me. You are strange and wonderful. I am thankful to fate for the encounter with you that took place a short while back. You have plenty of merits. The main one is you know answers of the questions that I asked myself for years, and that nobody could help me to answer. Now you’ve come and answered all my questions. The candle-flame wavers, and in its flickering light the night become yet more festive and special. You are here, and all the rest is no matter, or rather all the rest is but scenery.
The snowflakes whirl slowly outside the window, turning the November night into a quiet holiday.
winter…
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read more in the blog:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/07/27/anthony_blanche_fan_blog~2709191
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/08/20/vamp_up~2837823

P. S.
The author would not like her blog to sound ranting. She hardly can entertain all the visitors, for tastes differ. At most, she can tell a story. The story is not always notional, frequently it is in the taste of the poets-Symbolists i.e. aesthetically beautiful and about nothing. It’s nice if a story could tempt the reader.
~R_Я~
“My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music” said Nabokov.
I’d say: my loathings are not so simple:
all manner of violence, zealots, adverts on TV, politicos and other wirepullers, whopper, metropolitan snobbery, preachers, satanists, the buckram pencraft of fantasy fiction authors, spiders, being at a height, because of acrophobia, long lines at shops, instinct of a crowd, irresponsibility, fast cars, the smell of a fish.
Tell about what you dislike…
P. P. S.
more pictures:
I’ve remade a beautiful picture of a country house, which I loved, and turned it into something unbelievable. Self-portrait of the author of the blog--take it kindly:

more links:
This is the wonderful blog of my friend Emiel Maes from Belgium:
http://ploeg4b.skynetblogs.be/post/5398555/l-o-n-d-o-n
Lord Likely’s astonishing adventures:
http://lordlikely.co.uk/
Le Blog 2007. The Esthetic of Senses. A regularly updated personal photography collection of nature, architecture, artistic nudes and other blows of hearts. Our universe is perhaps yours! Daniel & Didier:
http://danieletdidier.blogspot.com/
AB.PHOTO.LATVIA. This is a blog with photos from Latvia, country with short summer and long and wet winter:
http://ab-photo.blogspot.com/?gclid=COGc8K_DjZACFQnpXgodG1oDPg

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*secret*
Snow. The town almost got blind.
Light. No colours in the world, only white.
Town--like a vessel stuck fast in the ice.
Souls--lost in the universal vice.
Snow entwines your frigid feel.
Stoned, you never thought it’s so real.
Town… But I know a secret. Listen:
the snow soon will melt,
and your sunlit town will sail
at the height of springtide.

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