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November 11th, 2007 - Quisque sum - а мне - robur quercus — LiveJournal

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November 11th, 2007


02:07 pm - Шарымов А. М. Предыстория Петербурга. 1703 год
http://gorchev.lib.ru/ik/Predystoriya%20SPb_1703god/Index_contents.html
спасибо ЖЖ-юзеруАнтону за сообщение

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07:10 pm - Friendship in hitch-hiking life - my first English post and a composition 5 years ago
It is difficult to speak of the never solid, of something that is like a mist, like a bunch of feelings of different tastes. I mean friendship. You can hardly imagine, while looking at the colored ribbon of faces on the metro-stairway, that any of them would be your friends. But sometimes it comes true, anyway. We meet our friends while living, working, teaching, entertaining and wandering. That's really a prodigy – the person you've never seen before becomes one the most close people to you. He or she is quite different from you, or quite similar – it doesn’t matter, since you're friends. You understand the steps of each other, and you accept each other as you are - with all your drawbacks and goals.
Any friendship is the teaching of some knowledge – one gives, and another affords himself/herself to get. That knowledge may be ethnic, subcultural or personal, or religious, scientific and philosophical. They are approaching us on our way to multicutural society, to that "global village" of humanity.
Once I met one person, whom I would now call a friend - though there was quite a little tie that connected us, which today is nonexistent at all. I met him about 2 years ago at some Moscow' flat. He looked rather strange in his acid-fashioned spotting yellow-red-and-black trousers. That time he was keen on techno music and murmured infinitely something like electronic sounds.
– Hello, – said he, – heard you of Prodigy? Funky group.
At first sight everything was different in us – all our knowledge, talk, background, feeling of the world. Only that wonderful chance of wanderer could bring us together, and in endless speeches we told each other our lives.
He was a punk – as he told – from Kiev. I fairly tended to hippies. He'd already lived on the street for three years. I'd been hiking for a second day since my escaping from home to nowhere. He preferred techno, and I did like rock-music very much. He’d hardly ever attended high school, and I was a University sophomore. Actually it was a social gap between us, but I was easy about it. We were equal as human beings and Seledka – that was the name of my friend – could be my teacher during our living in the streets – to find the places to stay overnight, to ask the money and so on. Cold winds and snow, hard rigid benches of local trains and constant noise in the ears – whether of the train-engines or alcohol – really leveled us. We were drunk and free.
It was strange for me. Yesterday I knew neither him, no his friends and here I felt as if they were companions in the University and even more closely. I felt myself falling out of the window into the world I dreamt. It wasn't like a foreign country, it was a different world, but I felt it was mine. It became quite usual for me to live it in, to do anything I wanted, to talk to someone I liked – it seemed not a bit strange to me. Moreover, I was near to approach of these people – of their feelings and expectations. I had a wonderful chance – when I talked to someone – of looking into some Alice-in-Wonderland’ well and seeing all the jars with no jam inside, being laid on the shelves of one's soul. It was an illusion of the all-mighty with no real power.
Now I think the people I met must have felt the same about me, especially Seledka. He became for me a symbol of that all-feeling, all-propitiating of some theory or mental picture. He abounded with them:
– Here, stuff, look at cop, and yaaa, he's like Bob Marley, now, stuff, stripping jeans, naturally, dreads, scag with Ganj in teeth, that's without gitar, see!
He seemed to be like a crazy magician who did any thing that had just come to his mind.
Still, life was more cruel: I haven't got any strength to live on the street – I mean flat-overnighting by chance, dreaming at railway stations and house-entrances, constant cold and hunger – still there was a winter. It was an obvious end of my hiking story: I returned home to "normal life". Since that time I haven't met anybody of my 2-years-ago journey, though sometimes I heard the sounds of a rock-n-roll concert nearby. Is it for some hitch-hiker passed?


Seledka is the first from the left

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