Different Person – My Fears

I had a task in Creative Writing class to imagine myself as a person of opposite sex and different age, but with my fears and write a poem from this person’s perspective. Here I am a 33 years old man whose fear is that he might have chosen a wrong path in life.


The pillow’s softness’s hard on me

Because it ceases in the morning.

As I’ll wake up and I shall see

Consequences of mother’s warning.


The cruel truth that got me baffled,

To make good art you have to suffer.


When I was young,

I wasn’t smartest,

Perhaps that’s why

I am an artist.


I followed Bradbury’s advice

And just kept swimming.

Though drowned twice,

I resurrected and continued.


Did I choose wrong the path of life?

No stable job, no son, no wife.

A man of Balzac’s age is pity

1/3 of life’s behind my shoulder

And not much changed – I just got older.


Solution doesn’t come that easy,

I have to stop with making art,

Just as the pillow’s softness ceases.


My Tight Night Schedule

You know the feeling when you go to sleep at 10 p.m, sleep through the whole night as baby and wake up at 9 in the morning without alarm and feel rested and happy?

Here is the opposite.
1 a.m.
Who I am
Is a secret
To me.
2 a.m.
Where I am
is a cage.
Can’t see.
3 a.m.
In my head.
4 a.m.
Here i am
In my bed.
5 a.m.
Should’ve slept,
Now I am trapped.
New day.


Don’t you do this too?

I’ve been comparing the merits of own and of others, not daring to rise above it all.
What use is to beat own bruises, diffusing self-worthiness, and digging a well you can’t drink from and think you are destined to fall.
What use is it TO me, after destructive comparative study is done?
Before my lips say it, before my brain thinks it, my heart whispers silently: “none“.



A slightly depressive tip to remember if you want to stay humble.

I was born,
You were born.
So what?

Have we managed to change the world?

I was loved,
You were loved as well.

Shall we cry though, hearing mournful bell?

I have dreams,
You are dreaming too.

Dreams are fog, will dissolve- nothing new.

I have tried,
You have tried.
So what?

Dont you feel we are two little frauds?

I have made and will make mistakes,
You will too, with our lives at stake.

I will die…
You will die…
So what?

Does it matter?
What for we fought?

You and I – we don’t know when this room ends.

Two snowflakes,
Two mortal humans.



♥   The irony of perpetual love   ♥

Horny Cornelia and Sleazy Sylvester

Once fell in love,

Here we wish all the best for

This man and this woman

Who couldn’t be loyal.

As if loyalty matters –

Their sex was flamboyant!

Ten days and three hours of perpetual love…

Love is a fragile thing on the wings of a dove

But you know… how the routine devours all stuff.

Cornelia loved him so deeply!…so  madly!…

She even felt bad… for a second or two

When she had to break up

Cause Sylvester’s got flu.

Alas, life goes on and the young hearts keep beating…

A couple days later we have two love stories – 

Of Horny Cornelia and Fuckboy Antonio,

Recovered  Sylvester and Naive Virgin Gloria.

P.S – This P.S is for Cornelia, Sylvester, Gloria and Antionio none of whom I know personally, though whose existence or level of horniness I don’t dare to contest, as the world is too big of a place for not having people with such names, and too small of a place for me to try to run away if they decide to unite to take revenge on me.

“Dear above-mentioned Gloria, Antionio, Cornelia and Sylvester,this poem was written solely for entertaining purpose. I hope you will understand and won’t take it personally, as I did when Sting had his “Roxanne” song, about a prostitute whom he tries to persuade not to ‘walk the streets for money’ damn you Sting, you stink!

Frankly speaking, I I had walked the streets for money myself (ah, all Roxanas are same) -I had been delivering newspapers and ad brochures in Jyväskylä. But that is a different story waiting for you in the next post…






Dear friends, I present you a bunch of interesting creatures whom I met in two cities of Kazakhstan and one city of Finland.

Presumably Mr. Chaplin was quite surprised to receive news that he died a while ago. I quote him, “Whaaaat? Noo way!” was his respond to me.












A unpresedent drama took place in an ophtalmological clinic in Kazakhstan. Local newspapers called this case “Third odd”. Huffington post reporters flew to the hospital to cover the news. “I always knew that three is a tricky number, but I couldn’t imagine that could happen to me one day,” says one of the chairs.









Solomon Salmon, a famous master-mind of burglary craft is on trial period. He was sentenced to  compulsory community service by the  jury court of Bikini Bottom. “This is a hard period for me, I feel like a fish out of water without burglary. Vincenzo betrayed me and now I’m here. I knew I couldn’t trust this bastard,” Mr. Salmon shares with Daily Mail. We believe you, Solomon Salmon.










Vincenzo Rosato di Fruitty, amongst criminals he is known as Curly Vince. Allegedly, he was Solomon Salmon’s sidekick and gave out location of Salmon to police, where the latter one was arrested. Police assumes Curly Vince was acting out of greed. The criminal is on the wanted list.










This is Lonely Lonny. His name is Lonny and he is lonely. Nothing interesting, just keep moving.












Dreamy lantern in a magical corner of my university campus. He dreams a lot, sees beauty and good everywhere and thus, SHINES in the darkest time.














Bulb and Foot are best friends, despite how different they are.