Where?

I was in St. Petersburg for a few months to conduct experimental research...

I was staying at a place that was both a college for international students and some kind of hostel for these same fellas (as a kind of short-term boarding school) but also for other foreign guests like me.
The campus and lab I was working on were at walking distance from this dorm and when compared to the average accommodation available on the private market, this was a quite privileged place to be.
A shit hole was my assessment when I arrived.
The building had several classrooms, offices for every step of the burocracy ladder, a cafeteria, a small shop, and a gym.
One of the wings was exclusively dedicated to small-shared flats. I was sharing one myself with a couple of those interns coming from Finland.
There were several nationality bubbles spread all over the different floors. And on mine it were indeed the Finns who made the biggest agglomeration. Other floors were more intensively populated with Germans or Kazaks for instance… The third floor was famous for a recent remodelling, meaning it was not indeed a shit hole, and also because it was where all the Americans were sent. It seems they also paid for their accommodations twice or more than everybody else.

But let me tell you about Kevin. He was one of the first persons I have a recollection of upon my arrival. I held the elevator door for him, he thanked in Russian, I welcomed in English. He was from somewhere in the U.S.
We never talked much more. But I liked him. I liked his face, I guess, he seemed a nice guy and we ran into each other a couple of times and we always smiled and nodded as partners in crime may do. I think he told me his name on that occasion but actually if you had asked me about it just before he went missing, I couldn’t tell…

Last time I saw him was at a rendez-vouz on the third floor with friends from all over the building, Americans included of course, to watch the UEFA cup final.
Zenit, one of the local soccer teams, made its way to the last game and eventually brought the cup home. That was actually the only time I saw him hanging around with other people. He had company though. He had his arms around a tall pretty Russian girl that understood our smile-and-nod-drill and joined it surprisingly well tuned.
A couple of days later I found he had no other friends there. Americans were leaving. They were all in the same program, which was over, their visas were expiring and nobody had seen Kevin ever since the soccer game. Including his roommate, which had no idea where he could be or could have been. Kevin had no mobile phone.I found all of this when some of us gathered on the hall to say goodbye. People were talking about this Kevin. Some girl thought she had just seen him on Nevsky Prospekt, had tried to tap him on the shoulder and he had just disappeared. His name was then written on a paper and put on the billboard of the hall.

Curious Cat *

Big Boss

Intoxicated by drinking the ink from all my pens

No outro dia lembrei-me de um miúdo que se sentia constantemente observado...
E no entanto achava isso perfeitamente normal. Eram essas as suas respectivas funções porque quem continuamente o espiava era deus.

Também aqui há dias conheci um kazak com 3 dentes de ouro. Substituiam as favolas do centro. Nesse mesmo dia deparei-me com a ira de um sueco que tinha encontrado uma caneca molhada no sítio das canecas secas.

Hoje, a primeira impressão da rua foi desprovida de sentido.
As criaturas materializam-se do éter e voltam a submergir em lado nenhum.

O corpo perde o equilíbrio e vem espalmar-se junto à minha cara espetada na areia da beira-mar.

E as narinas entupidas.

Ursos nas montanhas das eslováquia que não se mostram apenas deixam sentir a sua presença.

E aquele cheiro sem origem que ficou lá na rua... Do lado direito por onde subia...

Espirro!

Viram a Regina?
Ela é muito boazinha.
Mas quando lhe dá para encher
a barriguinha de chocolates,
fica possuída!
-Joder! Não pode ser.
Mas é!
-Virgen! Macho! Por Dios!
Perdeu-os
- Olha diz a essa menina então,
para parar.
Que esta história ainda acaba com faca e alguidar.

Inquérito ao público dos domingos

Escolha a opção que melhor descreve o que associa às palavras:

NUCLEAR

a) conjunto familiar mais próximo
b) perigo
c) nudez e informática

ANTISISTEMA

a) cidadania
b) futebol
c) sistemático

YOUTUBE

a) é como as batatas fritas
b) and you suck
c) !!!


Complete a expressão:

Descobrir a pólvora ______________________________________


Escreva as suas escolhas em "comments" e para além de receber a interpretação dos resultados estará a contribuir para uma amostragem, parte de um estudo a ser realizado. Obrigado.

footprints

Someone said that people are like piles of sand.
Like the ones you build dropping grain after grain on top of each other.

That is
the personality

Being build up to a certain point.
And then… You know.
Some grains just don’t stick anymore.

But that’s not just it.
At that point any grain can start an avalanche.

I can agree with that.
Some avalanches can even be enormous.

Rarely I know, I keep walking, as the horizontal beach seems wide.

Um banco de jardim pintado de fresco

O preço está asfixiado na garrafa de vinho.
No fundo
de um comboio suburbano
por aquelas mãos azuis
no cú de granito de um bloco
de casas pintadas

Peixe à tona

stms qs chgr. Dv sr pr ss q gr n ncst d bnc d frnt st mznh pndrd n prlngmnt dql cbç mrtç q lh pr trs. cr d garoupa n dsst nqnt n v chgr rrpndd sps.
rrpnt.
s cbçs rçrm nvs tnttvs. msm lgnc.

W

Is a loop being closed again
Has my skin peeled off
Am I to be that
Am I to perceive those so many stories
Am I to be amazed
Has been
Is there a rite

Why is the scene not being sucked by the living surroundings?

sucker

There was only one place in town where I could find it.
I didn’t know this before I started looking for.
It took me some tens of walked miles and thus sweat and pains until I followed the last hint someone gave me to find this small bizarre-as-all-should-look-like drugstore.
Behind the counter displaying a full set of different kinds and shapes of razor blades there was this middle-aged guy.
He was tall and bold and wore a lousy t-shirt and a thick cigar on his lips.
Yeah, he told me had it.
He spoke perfect English and started asking me questions about the machine that I didn’t know the answers to. Well I could tell him the basic…
He obviously had a good impression on this specific brand and soon he was telling me I should go for the originals, the original bags. These were not in paper, as they are usually expected. They were in this special cloth which I can’t remember the name, and with all these special features that should enforce me to take them… I couldn’t stop thinking that I was getting advise on this exquisite wine whose characteristics this guy just absolutely adored and could turn into these words that really anticipate your perception when tasting it.
He turned his attention to the cigar and then he also gave some tips on how to optimise the performance just by changing some other spare parts that were also included with the bags.
I took it.
At the moment I was just hoping that he guessed right and I was walking home with the proper things so I wouldn’t have to return and change them as he promptly offered to in case of misfit.
But guys, when I finally got home, put the new bags in, which were as he predicted the right ones, and turned the thing on… That sucker just grabbed the floor like I never seen any other do.

T.A. mesmo click

by Pedro