bo so ro

01:57 | 06-08-2025

sometimes reading a blogpost feels like listening to someone’s dialogue in a half empty cafe in the middle of the night. they sit two tables across - enough for both of u to not see each others faces, enough for u to hear them talk a bit louder than whisper.

it always feels weirdly intimate. dates. places. names. they talk about their wives friends husbands grownup children publishers agents fortune tellers chefs and god. they talk so casual one could say emotionless, but to me it feels almost nostalgic, because saturation of the feeling is not the lack of sensitivity but the opposite. the ability to carry the weight of saturated melancholy makes those talks liminal.

so u listen. u slowly become part of their early summer in istanbul collecting pieces of information about an unfinished works of author they have been researching all their life. writing emails to their editor, who dies year later. u listen about their trip to arizona to meet distant relatives and how they spent the night in the desert while taking a long ride to their university friend.

the “human” of those conversations feels like a time traveler. someone with no destiny yet the one living thousands lives. maybe because i never be them. maybe because my imagination of their stories would never be their memories of those moments.

02:52 | 30-07-2025

I remember watching TV as a kid.

It was a show about the ocean

with Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

And I still remember the frame

where the team is preparing for the dive.

Everyone knows what to do,

and they do it

with no hesitation.

They talk about the ocean

like I would speak about god,

and they move accordingly,

dedicating their minds

solely to the infinite depths

beneath them.

It made me think back then:

I want to be one of them,

part of this crew,

on the white fisherman boat

in the middle of the black-blue waters.

Now, many years later,

I don’t feel like I’m dreaming enough.

I don’t feel like I wish for something the way I did back then,

when every particle of my mind was soaked with pictures of endless horizons

17:52 | 26-07-2025

difference between art and creativity

14:21 | 18-07-2025

is there even a space for me to be ?

14:08 | 15-07-2025

while we were sitting in the garden, talking, drinking, playing cards.

the music slowly started pouring from the nearby forest.

slow, smooth sounds of jazz.

we got up, almost dancing—

vivid pictures of carefree summer in our minds.

moving through the fields of overgrown wildflowers,

approaching the sounds

in our thorny clothes

under the stormy sky—

what could be better?

and yet,

with the first clerk in white and black

shovelling champagne glasses under our noses,

i was ready to change my words.

the music was louder here—

too polished, too deliberate.

a clearing revealed itself like a stage,

full of strangers we felt we should know.

heels sinking in moss.

laughter sparkling.

someone kissed both my cheeks and called me darling.

we stayed a little

yet long enough to pretend we belonged.

and then we slipped away,

barefoot and hungry,

the forest swallowing our steps

19:47 | 14-07-2025

while we were sitting in the garden, talking, drinking

the music slowly started pouring from nearby forest.

slow smooth sounds of lounge jazz.

we got up almost dancing.

vivid pictures of carefree summer.

moving through the fields of overgrown wildflowers approaching the sounds in our thorny clothes under the stormy sky what can be better.

and yet with the first clerk in white and black shovelling champagne glasses under our noses i was ready to change my words.

19:43 | 12-07-2025

мне порой начинает казаться что я все время хожу по кругу. и куда бы ни шел все равно вернусь обратно.

словно если буду смотреть в даль достаточно долго увижу собственную спину.

19:36 | 12-07-2025

hmm...

12:37 | 04-07-2025

the stone of the decayed temples

overgrown by rainforest green

becomes a mountain, to then

become a temple

once again

23:17 | 24-06-2025

sometimes, when i feel sad,

i imagine myself underwater

faded recollection of

an adorned memory

my teenage years

at our sailing camp

as we were learning to dive

off giant breakwater stones

as i slipped beneath the quiet waters

i remember a moment

absolute

quiet

stillness

and

boundless

calm

something i’ve never felt again

no matter how much i tried

to recreate it

as if my mind

had become one

with the summer-blue sky

sparkling through

the cold morning water

of the black sea

20:08 | 24-06-2025

This is my cap,

this is my overcoat,

here is my shave kit

in its linen pouch.

Some field rations:

my dish, my tumbler,

here in the tin-plate

I’ve scratched my name.

Scratched it here with this

precious nail

I keep concealed

from coveting eyes.

In the bread bag I have

a pair of wool socks

and a few things that I

discuss with no one,

and these form a pillow

for my head at night.

Some cardboard lies

between me and the ground.

The pencil’s the thing

I love the most:

By day it writes verses

I make up at night.

This is my notebook,

this my rain gear,

this is my towel,

this is my twine

00:18 | 22-06-2025

I am already going to a sad, dark grave,

where I will rest until the day of judgment,

Where mighty kings lay their bones, Princes, lords, turn to dust.

The sun and moon will cease to shine for me.

Worms, rot, those will remain with me.

Where has wise Solomon disappeared with wisdom?

Where Croesus, Ahasuerus with his splendor?

Where is Samson so strong? Where is the valiant Judith?

Where is the strong Hercules?

Let the weeping wail with us!

I am leaving on this journey, taking nothing with me,

in a form covered with mortal mourning,

the world boards a miserable white rag,

the whole service of this miserable world.

I am leaving poor.

Father, Mother,

together with my brothers and sisters,

I am saying goodbye to my daughters, sons, stepchildren,

to all my family and friends. I am saying goodbye to you, my beloved spouse.

Thank you for being my chosen one in life,

to divine providence, and I am already leaving for a terrible eternity.

I am giving you here

I am saying goodbye to you today, see hastily, and do not forget about my soul.

I thank my gracious neighbors a hundred times, for coming here willingly to my funeral.

May God reward everyone with health protection, forward fortune,

and support with a heavenly crown.

Wipe the tears from your eyes, hide your sorrow,

wish me peace in the heavenly light.

10:08 | 20-06-2025

what if the movement is what makes us establish ourselves in outer universe. and through movements even so light we feel present. through lines. throughout interactions. through pictures and images.

10:06 | 20-06-2025

the sublime art of movement.

writing

washing

working with clay and wood

cleaning with broom

painting

baking bread

00:22 | 18-06-2025

an ode to tenderness

through sand

and vibrancy

of endless summer

the blossoming

of a desert flower

between the stone and air

expose an edge

so ethereal

that coined by fire

to mirror fire

when blooming, rarely,

yet with so much love

unraveled by no hand

only to dry

or to become a shade,

for those

who can’t be saved,

but shortly given comfort

a love so tender

it will wither

with a breath

yet rooted deep

and cracked earth

to live as long as

sun allows

20:58 | 06-06-2025

you were born into the broadness of the summer sky —

a soul soaked with rain and thunder.

we sang for you —

old songs

we remembered

from our grandparents.

every evening, after dinner,

we opened all the windows.

the world outside

became a chorus.

you listened

to the symphony

of blackbirds,

swallows,

cicadas

crickets

of old oak trees,

and distant trains

church clocks

cars passing through puddles.

the school band practicing

somewhere far.

and you were falling asleep.

softly.

vividly.

as the world

sang you to rest.

16:04 | 06-06-2025

“i have no recollection

of the geological history

of this archipelago…”

“what do you mean?” i ask

“i do not know when

those tectonic plates

rose from the ocean

and became mountains…”

“me neither…

but what i remember

there was a mountain

made of fossils

and petrified flowers.”

and i look around,

surrounded by shades of green

asking myself:

was there a history

behind every flower

blossoming in this garden?

were there hands—

holding glasses,

cigarettes,

books,

cups of coffee—

moments before

those flowers touched the earth?

do they remember

how their ancestors

once grew

on the ocean floor?

and would they too

one day become

a part of petrified field?

19:56 | 31-05-2025

10 томов энциклопедии

слиток тяжелого метала

23:32 | 27-05-2025

история о странном отеле у перевала. обветшалый указатель «рецепция» ключи не менее странной формы. лабиринт из коридоров неожиданно переходящий в самые разные помещения: кабинет владельца (на столике неизменно стоит табличка «ушел обедать вернусь к полудню»), зеленая комната с припевающим садовником которого нигде не видно, бассейны, подземная парковка где стоят только такси и таксисты играют в карты на ракушки кораллы и камешки разговаривая на незнакомых языках, студия где переодически кто-то что-то лепит/рисует/мастерит, маленький музей где можно увидеть 1. местную статуэтку венеры 2. крохотный акварельный пейзаж очень известного мастера 3. невероятной красоты диадему из золота и хрусталя 4. временную экспозицию новую каждый раз как ее приходится видеть. кто-то из постояльцев поклялся что как-то видел работника ее меняющую но тот исчез стоило им встретиться взглядами; еще довольно редко говорят о то ли комнате с бабочками то ли аквариуме с тропическими рыбками то ли террариуме с необычной растительностью но сведения здесь не однородны а чаще даже в корни различны. кроме выше перечисленых комнат можно также обнаружить себя в разнообразных кладовках, лоджиях, номерах с видом на лес, номерах с видом на скалы, номерах без вида, комнатах персонала, террасе ресторанчика, подвале бара, ванных комнатах и лестничных клетках.

22:47 | 23-05-2025

from the far north

to the southwest

i go -

crippled,

torn,

with some rugged dreams

begging the sky

to allow me

one more memory

of long-forgotten days

how far would i last?

when everything feels

more unstable

the further i go

a strange illusion of a gift -

of grace

and unbendable fate

i surrender

if not today…

tomorrow

maybe

00:14 | 23-05-2025

i don’t remember

how my face looked

before we met

i don’t remember

looking at the mirror as a child

maybe i was just too short to reach it

00:12 | 23-05-2025

those days when the rain is pouring

slowly

steadily

all day through

with a brief moments of vivid blue

i look at you —

hidden

behind the lilac flowers —

colourless light of unknown words

a turquoise stream

flows up the mountain side

00:28 | 15-05-2025

and to the times

when i was alone

left by the day

in the hands of night—

i’m sorry

i couldn’t last long enough

to meet you.

22:43 | 13-05-2025

i know magnolias are so old—

they bloomed

before bees existed

and i’d love to imagine

that ancient world

blossoming

with myriads of giant flowers

sinking into the ocean of ferns

21:48 | 12-05-2025

fluffyn

20:04 | 12-05-2025

слышу ласточек

вспоминаю дом

в мешочке за спиной

гречневый хлеб

19:54 | 12-05-2025

гуляю в дождь

не переживая что намокну

последние грозы мая

14:42 | 12-05-2025

when i walk past

under the newborn needles

of juniper trees

i think about you

the soul of

brightest green

08:51 | 12-05-2025

flowers are falling down

after the rain season

i’m sitting in the shade of a tree

ten minutes late to my train

pink chestnut flowers on the wet asphalt

right beneath my feet

such as tender beauty

mixed with cigarette butts

12:23 | 20-02-2025

Basic Rules:

Starting the Game:

On a turn, a player picks up all the seeds in one pit and “sows” them to the right, placing one seed in each of the pits along the way. If you come to your store, then add a seed to your store and continue. You may end up putting seeds in your opponent’s pits along the way.

Play alternates back and forth, with opponents picking up the seeds in one of their pits and distributing them one at a time into the pits on the right, beginning in the pit immediately to the right.

Special Rules:

Ending the Game:

The game is over when one player’s pits are completely empty. The other player takes the seeds remaining in her pits and puts those seeds in her store. Count up the seeds. Whoever has the most seeds wins.

11:47 | 20-02-2025

mancala. game of pebbles and pearls.

07:44 | 18-02-2025

you’d love the color of the sky these past few morning.

faded memory of blue.

06:42 | 10-02-2025

today i dreamt a milky way

10:21 | 09-02-2025

mid february.

i’m asking myself am i running away again? someone is whistling in the train. between intertwining morning voices sharp fluctuating whistle is easily distinguishable. we are passing dead winter mornings.

| frame one

corporations. factories. huge glass-iron-concrete structures confidently planted into wide landscapes. revealed by a narrow aureoles of bluish lights.

| frame two

fields.

| frame three

tunnels. slightly lighted stone walls. long dim and cold.

| frame four

lakes and rivers. places of melted lights. long wavy lines of yellow orange and white trembling on the ebony glass surface.

| frame five

arrival terminals. i still can see dreams flocking around passengers’ heads. their eyes seems distant and absent.

nothing really changes. time passes. we ride through the land not in a hurry anymore yet anxious anticipating future farewells.

we dismantle and take a trip through the space reminiscing of a labyrinth or limbo. the lady lazily humming a song. sounds vividly echoing through gigantic shallow space reaching my ear softly like a summer breeze.

we say our goodbyes.

we part ways.

another time another place.

i’m mourning my unlived lives.

21:37 | 31-01-2025

it’s no shame to be forgotten

23:44 | 24-12-2024

In the beginning, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers; later on, mountains are not mountains and rivers are not rivers; and still later, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers.

23:22 | 10-12-2024

Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup. reversed moon.

He was a devotee of ancient temples, a fine swordsman, and a great lover of sour plum wine

16:37 | 26-11-2024

бой широкого шага

бой краткого шага

13:39 | 02-10-2024

“… stepping across the greenish

whips of kelp, the broken shells,

the polished pink sea-glass

and the little cold stones..”

quote from here

15:14 | 01-07-2023

lost.


hosted on thoughts.page. theme by thwidge. check out the thoughts webring!