Your life is the same until one day it is completely different

Are you the American?

Would you like to join my club/work at my school/translate this for me/tell me what this means/come to
my class/speak at this conference/give me private english lessons/carry this up the stairs/eat dinner at my
house/meet my parents/date my daughter/give me your phone number/tell me how i can go to america for
free/get me a job in america/walk my dog/housesit for me/do my homework/say something in english/
host me when I defect to america/have a drink with me/let me touch your hair/show me your passport/
show me your drivers license/give me this twenty dollar bill/teach me perfect english in three months/
never leave/marry my daughter/tell me about america/text message chat with my friend who wants to practice her english/tell me what is different about russia/meet a nice russian girl/tell me what you think about
russian girls/come over for dinner?

This party in my apartment has been fossilized cause

the bottles are still
all over the floor and table
the windowsill too
like an image I cant think of but less trite than
memories
and Im probably too lazy to throw them out.
You see, the other ones from
the old party are sitting under the table,
where I hid them from my landlady
cause shes got a prying eye
that Im trying to avoid
like something more thoughtful than
the plague
the Russians have started wearing masks again
quiet chuckle,
laughing while I collect fossils.

I have spent the last forty-seven and one half hours in this house
Doing what most consider as nothing
I would like to be more productive, I make a list
Look at the list, think about the things I have to do

Its minus 12 degrees outside

Dont know why I should leave my apartment
when I could be on the
internet
doing internet things
the keyboard is covered in
foodstuffs
like grease n crumbs
ill clean it later
when Im done being on the
internet

Its probably best if we go on our hands and knees. That way we wont fall through.
What?
Like this.
Oh, okay.
Three people were creeping across the snow that was probably four or five feet deep and frozen on top. It was
hard to tell how far the ground was from the surface. They were making their way towards the river, having
recently walked through a rather villagy street of the city they were in. They were making their way to the river
because the photographer from France was taking pictures.
Looking out across the river, it was hard to tell where it ended and the other bank began. The river itself had
been frozen for about four months, many said it was frozen to the bottom. Theyll probably have to blow it up
one old lady on the street had said. There was a lot of snow on the river. It didnt look like a river at all, just more
snow. It was white and white and white. The sky was a little bit gray.
The girl tried to stand up and her foot sank about two feet into the snow. She laughed and looked at the other
two. She pulled her foot out and her boot was stuck and her legging was covered in snow. She steadied herself
on the shoulder of the boy in order to brush off the snow and put her boot back on. Then she pointed towards
the river.
See? Nothing.
The boy and the photographer nodded silently.
Near the river the snow had become hard enough to walk on. They stood up and started walking north along
what would normally be the bank, back in the direction of town. The girl walked fastest and the photographer
walked behind her. The boy tried to take a picture of the whiteness on his camera phone. It didnt turn out so
well.
He walked faster to catch up with the other two. In the meantime the photographer had started taking pictures
of some trees. His camera would click maybe once a minute. Slow.
The boy looked at the girl and she was already looking at him. Then she turned her head away and looked at the
river. Then she looked at the ground.
Do you like this place?
Yeah, its beautiful. I cant believe I live here and Ive never seen this.
I know lots of places like this one. I can take you there.
The camera clicked behind them.

I want to take you more places like this, but alone.

Why alone?
So it will be just us.
She looked at him when she told him she said it would be just them. He looked at her and then he looked away.
Then she walked over and put her head on his shoulder. She breathed two or three times and the cloud of her
breath mixed with his and became a larger breath cloud.
You know I like you.
I know.
You dont want to be with me?
I cant
Why not?
You know.
She kissed him and he let her. She looked at him again, kissed him again. He turned towards where the photographer had been.
The photographer had walked farther north without their noticing. A dog came out of the forest and started
barking at him. The photographer backed up and looked at the other two. They ran up to him and looked at the
dog. The girl looked at the dog closely.
Its a girl, it probably just has puppies somewhere. Just keep walking and shell leave us alone.
They walked and the dog kept barking. They were silent and the dogs barks were very loud. The boy felt very
nervous. The girl did not feel nervous but she was a little sad. The photographer thought he took one or two
really good pictures. Then the dog went away once they had walked far enough.

First there was a stray dog, lying on its side, shivering, convulsing, seizing or freezing, am still not exactly too
sure. A women stood next to me, said this is what happens when they freeze to death.
Second there was a man, lying on the ground, at the bus stop where I got off to work. Sprawled out like a starfish,
not moving, two people guarding, blanket over his face, everybody staring. Wonder if he froze to death/had a
heart attack/was drunk/got hit by a car. There was no blood then or on the ice afterwards when I walked by
again and pointed the spot out to a friend. He said something like You see, this isnt really a good place to live.

RUSSIA
TURNED ON ITS SIDE
LOOKS LIKE A PHILLY PHANATIC
CLUB-FOOTED
IF THATS WHAT A CLUBFOOT LOOKS LIKE
THIS IS HOW I FEEL HERE
OR AT LEAST
THE BEST I COULD COMMUNICATE
BUT AFTERWARDS
I MAY
FEEL
DIFFERENTLY

Floor/Ceiling
I was just about ready to leave when the pounding started on the door. Heavy, rhythmic, coupled with my name
being shout in a heavily affected Russian accent (pound pound pound). I opened the door.
Before me stood my downstairs neighbor, Alex. We generally dont see each other much, we generally dont talk
much besides exchanging pleasantries on the stairs from time to time. Most of our conversations occur when
the sound of walking people at my parties becomes unbearable for him on Friday/Saturday nights and he comes
upstairs in order to ask us to be quieter. Usually hes very civil, tonight he didnt seem so civil and I had no people
over to my apartment. I was confused.
Alex was visibly drunk. There were some stains on his roughly knit shirt. He was carrying a large jar in each
hand. One appeared to be filled with tomatoes, the other, with berries and a berry colored liquid that appeared
alcoholic. Behind him stood a young man, early teens, pre-pubescent mustache. He was looking at the ground.
On Alexs shoulder was a cat.
-Brendan! Ive come today to celebrate with you! Ive brought my son and my cat!
-Alex, I was just about to head out, Im meeting friends
-Nonsense! Today is the day of defenders of our nation, we have to drink!
He then entered, his entourage in tow. He led us into the living room. Let the cat go. She immediately ran into
my room and under the bed. He sat down heavily, looked about him.
-Brendan, this is my son ________. He is fourteen years old. I wanted him to meet the American.
-Hello _______ Im Brendan. How are you?
-....Im fine....thanks
-Brendan! my son, he is a very good one. He studies hard, gets good grades, studies German.
-You study German?
-Yes....a little.
-Versteht dein Vater Deutsch?
-....um....Nein.
-Ist alles okay?
-Ja.
_________ wasnt making eye contact, looked a little uncomfortable. I pitied him.
-Brendan! You can speak German?
-Yes, I lived in Germany for about two years.
-You are, you are, a person of the world. You....and I....are people of the world.
-Yes we are Alex, yes we are.
He looked at me for a few seconds without saying anything. His eyes were watery with drink. And red. He
seemed lost in thought for a few seconds. Then he blinked, shook his head.
-Brendan! Do you have shot glasses?

-Yes, just a second.

I walked into the kitchen and started washing the few shot glasses I had for us to use. I didnt notice that he had
followed me in.
-Brendan! Do you have a knife?
I handed him the biggest knife I had, thinking he was going to use it to cut some bread for us to eat. Instead, he
started to play with it, flipping it between fingers, lunging at an invisible enemy.
-Do you know how to do that?
-No, I dont. In America, we dont have required military service
-I was a member of the military, during the soviet times. Do you know the USSR?
-Yes, of course.
-I know how to kill with this knife, I know how to kill with lots of things. Do you know how to kill?
-Well, I guess with a knife its not so hard, but...
Alex then lunged at me, put the knife near my throat, told me not to worry.
-Im in complete control.
He was drunk, I was afraid. Not that he had intentions of killing me, but that in his drunkeness he would stab
me. I tried to make my way out of the kitchen. Get out of this situation. Invited him to come with me. We headed
back to the living room.
Alex took the lid off of one of the jars. Told me it was called Nastoika. Told me his grandfather made it.
-Is it like Vodka?
-No, much better, its made at home, my grandfather made this.
-Distilled?
-Yes, distilled, distilled!
-With berries?
-Yes! With berries! Let us drink!
He poured from the jar into two shot glasses. His son looked on silently. Looked embarrassed. The cat was missing. We drank. It was delicious. It was like vodka without so much burn, and was filled with the sweet flavor of
berries. It went down easily.
-Alex, this is the most delicious thing I have ever drank
-Only Russians know how, you dont have this in America. You cant find this anywhere else.
We drank again, Alex opened up the jar of tomatoes, put one on the table. He took out the knife I had given
him, and tried to cut it. The subsequently smashed tomato ended up all over the floor. He took another one, bit
into it. The juice and brine ran down his face, the front of his shirt. The air was permeated with the salty smell
of brine. He offered me one and I refused.
-You dont like tomatoes? My grandmother pickled them.
-I cant eat them, Im allergic
I lied, I was mostly frightened.

-So you were in the army?

-Yes for a long time. They taught us how to kill in the army, kill Americans. Americans are barbarians! Kill them!
-Really?
-Of course, it was the cold war. Americans were taught the same, Kill Russians!
-I dont know if thats totally true
-Of course its true, it was the cold war.
-Really?
-Of course, it was the cold war. Americans were taught the same, Kill Russians!
-I dont know if thats totally true
-Brendan, We were taught to kill, to kill Americans. I know how to kill with anything. With this spoon, this fork.
With my hands. With my gun. Do you want to see my gun?
-Your gun?
-Yes, my gun, I have many of them. I was in the army.
-Um, really?
-Yes, _________! Go get my gun and bring it up here.
His son looked at him with disbelief, got up and went into my bedroom. He emerged about thirty seconds later
with the cat. He walked out the door silently. I figured we wouldnt be seeing him again.
-We were taught that Americans were Barbarians. Now I see you, I know thats not true.
-Why is that?
-Look at you? You dont know how to kill. You went to college, you came to Russia to teach Russian students
English.
-I guess I do know how to kill, but I dont think I would be able to.
-Thats what I mean. You arent a barbarian, you speak English and German and Russian, and youve lived in a
foreign country.
-Thats true, I guess.
-Lets drink to that!
-Okay, lets
He poured two more shots, we drank. We then drank three or four more shots together, commenting on the
quality of the Nastoika. Then the door opened. A broad woman stood in the door. Her face was sharp, her body
was tense. She walked into the living room, stood by the doorway.
-Alex! What are you doing here?
-Im drinking with my American friend! Its a holiday, were celebrating!
They then descended into Russian beyond my understanding. From what I gathered, she was furious that he had
asked their son to bring a gun upstairs, and wanted him to come home. He protested that he was just sharing a
drink with his friend and that it was a holiday. He would do what she wanted tomorrow. She left. We drank again
-To people of the world!
My phone rang, my friends who I was supposed to meet were wondering where I was. I didnt answer, but I sent
a message that my neighbor came over and that maybe they should come over and join us/help me. Alex had
been here a while, he was making me very uncomfortable.

-Ive killed people.

-really?
-Yes, I dont know how many, but I know it was many.
-How does it feel?
-I dont know. I dont think about those things.
-Do you feel sad?
-No.
We drank another shot. He ate another tomato. The brine was now all over the table.
-I dont think about it because thats how it happened. I didnt think. I just acted the way I was trained.
-Oh.
He then stabbed the table with the knife. His eyes scanned the room, landed on my mandolin.
-Balalaika! You play the Balalaika!
-Its actually not a balalaika. Its a mandolin
-Whats that?
-Sort of like a balalaika.
-You play it? You can play songs on it?
-Yes.
-Play!
-Play what?
-Ill tell you what
I went over and got the mandolin from its case. I sat down. There was a knock on the door.
-Whos that?
-My friend Masha, I told her to come over
-Is she your girlfriend?
-No, a friend
I let Masha in. She walked in and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Alex sat.
They introduced themselves
-Youre very beautiful
-Thanks
-My wife, she is beautiful too, but shes getting fat. But you couldnt have me if you wanted to.
-Okay
-She has a full fur coat, I own lots of stores. I have lots of money.
Masha looked at me. She understood.
-Are you going to play a song?
-Yes, he is!

Alex started to sing. He told me to play along. I wasnt sure what I was supposed to do. Then I recognized the
song as one often sang by Russians at my parties. I remembered the chords. Alex grabbed the knife and stood up
to dance. He sang off key, stumbled, thrusted and twirled the knife. His voice filled the room, the knife flashed
with the reflections of the lights above. It was beautiful. I played on.
Later, he would fall asleep on my couch, try to call and invite his friends over, say dirty things to Masha. Eventually Masha would have to explain to him that he needed to go home to his wife. He would leave, and Masha
and I would look at each other in disbelief, start to clean up. The apartment would smell like brine for the rest
of the week.

I got out of the train, stepped out into the evening cold. I was in Taiga, the city named after the forest, or perhaps vice versa. This city connects Tomsk with the Trans-Siberian line. I had two hours. I walked up onto the
overhead crossing in order to snap a few shots with my cameraphone as the sun was setting. A man asked me for
a cigarette and I said no. He then said something else I didnt understand, then smiled and laughed at me when
I told him I didnt understand him. Then he said, dont worry about it, youre still young. I wonder what it was
that he said that I wasnt supposed to worry about.
[I like the way snow looks as the sun is going down.]
Inside the train station, I sat and read The Crossing by Cormac McCarthy. I had noticed that there was a gathering of people drinking lots of milk. The women were plainly dressed, all in long skirts and without makeup.
I assumed they were conservative and religious. I was right. The youngest one came and sat next to me, brown
hair, freckles, glasses, face like an anthropomorphic rodent, but in a good way, like the Whos in Dr. Seuss books.
Hello Im from the dsf;kahsdoiaekjadhsfkjahweoiy
Im sorry I didnt understand.
Im from afsd;jkahsdfhkj christian asdkljasd. Weve traveling to Tomsk, how about you

Im going to Krasnoyarsk, for a conference.

Are you a teacher?
Yes, Im an English teacher, in Tomsk.
Youre not Russian?
No, Im American.
[The green of the trees became more intense under the light of the setting sun. Almost electric. They shine against
the blue of the snow and the redorange of the sky.]
What is your religion?
Im an atheist.
Really? Then what happens when you die? Do you go to heaven or hell?
I think nothing happens. I think you die, and then theres nothing.
[I had a desire to find the center of town, I had a few hours, I could make it there and back. Looking each way on
top of the metal crossover bridge was disorienting. There wasnt one way that looked as though it lead to the center.
If I wanted to find it, I would have to ask. The sun had almost set. I didnt want to ask, so I went into the train station instead.]
They tried to convert me right then and there, the whole lot of them. Told me they have so much fun when
they sing and dance and praise god together. Asked me to play the guitar with them. There were so many. They
frowned when I said that Jesus was just a regular guy who happened to be convinced that he was the son of god.
I still think he made major changes to the morality of westerners. That answer wasnt good enough cause he
wasnt the son of God to me.
Listen, it was nice meeting you, but I have to go
You should give us your number.
So that..
We can call you and invite you to our church in Tomsk.
No. I have to go now. Goodbye.
They all waved goodbye. It was dark outside now. I crossed the crossover bridge in darkness to get onto my train.
It was hot. Everyone was sleeping. I made my bed and put on my headphones and felt the gentle rocking and
shifting of the train. I had left Taiga.
[If I ever go back to Taiga again, I swear Ill find the center.]

A Reflection off the Whiteblue

They were leaving the library and they had just watched a film. The film had put her in a better mood. He knew
that because she was talking to him. A few hours before, she had ignored him from two seats over. He sorta
knew that she would do that.
I didnt talk to you because I was angry at you.
Oh.
But now Im over it. Im not angry.
They had broken off from the other two they were walking with. They were headed to a caf, their favorite. The
coffee there was the best in town. They liked to sit in this caf for hours and talk. They did this at least once a
week. The others were going to the caf too, they just werent walking as quickly.
I came over to your place because I needed you.
I know, I read your texts.
But you didnt answer my calls. I called you three times.
I wasnt home.
I was angry at you because you didnt answer my calls.
Even though it was ten days into spring, the sidewalks were still covered in ice. They had been covered in snow
a few days before, but then the temperature went above freezing and some of the snow melted and everything
turned into slush. Then the slush froze into ice. Walking on the sidewalks was very slippery. She slipped his arm
into his in order to keep her balance. She did this a lot with him. He usually liked it.
I wanted to move in with you. I had brought my things.
You did? What happened?
I got into a fight with V. I didnt want to live with him anymore. I brought some things so I could sleep.
She slipped a little on the ice. She used his arm to steady herself. He looked down, noticed her white tights again.
He liked the way her white tights looked against the whiteblue of the ice. He liked her sneakers.
I was really sad when you didnt call me back.
Im sorry; I didnt have my phone with me. I should have called you back.
I called you three times. I sent you messages. I really needed to talk to you.
You should have made it clearer. Should have written had a fight need to stay at your place. Then I would have
come home right away.
Its okay, Im not angry at you anymore.
He felt like a bad person. He felt this way because he was actually home when she had called. He had been napping, heard her knock on the door. He had felt his phone vibrate within his pants, knew that she was calling. He
had even snuck up to the door and looked through the peephole in order to see who it was. He saw her standing
there in the dark. But he did nothing save sneak back into his room.

He didnt want her to come inside; he didnt want to talk to her. He lay in his bed, counting the seconds in between knocks. She had knocked on the door for over ten minutes and that made him angry with her. He thought
it was ridiculous that she was knocking so long. He thought she had a problem, thought that she was too eager to
be with him. Sometimes when she slipped her arm into his it made him angry. He liked her, but he thought she
was acting out of line. Married women arent supposed to do things like that, even if theyre separated.
So, do you still want to move in?
No. Everything is fine now.
So maybe it was a good thing.
What?
Maybe it was a good thing that I didnt answer the phone. You had to go back and talk. Solve the problem.
I dont think so.


I.
This town is 400 years old
And people talking
Wikipedia has an article about it

400

Makes me think that 400 years

Of Siberian townhood
Would cause certain developments
Or solutions/ideas to come
To fruition
It is spring
The snow is melting
You think that in 400 years
A town
Traditionally covered in
Snow
Would have figured out drainage
II.
On the one hand I hate
All the ice/slush
My feet being wet
But then
There is some meltwater
Makes its way through
Icesheets
Carves a canyon
Or maybe a gorge
Also then
The cacophony of slush
So many wet bristles of
A sweepbroom
III.
The men curse with their icebreakers
Faces red rough, instruments scarring the
brick
The other men, on roofs with shovels
Push the snow till it falls

IV.
It is springtime.
The men
Know this cause
The girls
Have started wearing skirts
V.
It is springtime
I
know this cause
I
Have stopped wearing a hat/gloves

There are ~50 people asleep on this train

Maybe one is snoring
Some of them have feet that stick out
Too long 4 the beds.
I think that it looks a little like a morgue
With all them toes
There is a big metal boiler thing
At the end of the walkway
In each car
In it, endless hot water
Makes endless hot teas
Or maybe some ramen if youre hungry.
Sometimes I like to sit on the shelf by the window
In the room with three doors
To the bathroom
To the smoking area
Back to the car makes three
I sit here and read books and drink tea
While the Russians are sleeping.
Time yr bladder
The toilet door gets locked
Close to towns
Dont want your shit near the station
Better to leave it in the taiga
Just trees
And sometimes
Trains
Mostly trees

He said what are you and I said I am a man or maybe a wolf

lately I am not sure because I am weighing the advantages of both
man and wolf and it seems to be that maybe being a wolf is better
for wolves are wolves unbound by manthings. He asked what it meant
to be a wolf instead of a man and I repeated myself it meant not
being bound by manthings and he said what are those and I
said manthings are things like boxfood and paperwork and girlfriends
and saying a sunset is a sunset or a sun a sun. I continued saying
that manthings are anything that isnt a nowthing like a pastthing
or a tomorrowthing. He said I dont understand so I said you will
never be a wolf.

All text/images by B. Mulv

Sept 2009-May 2010
Thanks to all those along the way