of syntax and other mechanisms

And I, so weak in language! And a child of words! In examination of a student, do we not observe the slow progression, the shy world divulging itself? Or is this not the purpose of our study? Many have said to me that the smelter of immergence programs in the States cannot compare to the hard steeling of a time within the borders of this nation. And what comparison can I make?

The final summer exams peak their heads and cast rays down the long land. And where are we? We (and I say this off of my mind and the minds of others with whom I’ve spoken) have learned much and nothing. If the essence of education should find anything at its heart, I would imagine it to be humility. I note the bare contrast between the comfort (if not the ease) of my speech now and the unease I knew the night those rubber wheels nipped the tarmac. That is to say, in the eyes of my fellow students there has been a two month smiling. Though with those that have studied the language long, there has been a pervading ease, in those of us that are children to it, a confidence slowly wells.

But how then can I say we have learned nothing? I say that (though it has been long known) in every act of learning the chief part is a learning of the void. That is, for every piece we know, we know its boundaries. At beyond each boundary is a new fog that dances in the skin.

A Russian lock system is complex. When you arrive at a Russian lock system, key in hand, you must open the door to enjoy the comforts therein. Perhaps you have already pressed some small yellow circle to the reader, and the brown metal door opens to a staircase before you. You have climbed the stairs, dirty as they are. And you are at a lock system.

There are always three or more locks. The bronze key is in the lock and it turns seven hundred twenty degrees to the left. Now there is a flat rectangle of a screwdriver that pushes in. The bolt clicks and another door waits behind. It too awaits a screwdriver. Soon you will be home! And click! you are home. It is a small apartment, but it is most certainly a home. There is a gas stove that licks at matches when chai-desires request of you. There is space for your exhaustion. There is a toilet, there is a shower and sink that share the same nozzle.

Once you are comfortable on your yellow couch and watching kanal kultura, it occurs to you that every apartment must be thus flung open. Scrambling to open the building, you learn of another building nearby. And neighbors upon neighbors. All neighbors must be known, and all apartments! You run through the dark and bright streets of Petersburg with every key that can be found, and then beyond Petersburg.

We want to be native, but know that we cannot. That is, with the sinews of our hands and minds our striving is for the perfection of language that is owned by the man walking in the dust of the street. But it is beyond us, those of us not born unto it. But it is so near we might almost run it through our dusty fingers like a fifty kopeck piece and a grey bus receipt.

a new mode of brevity, wherein we can play word games late into the night, until our language leaves us for a better host

then i heard a shriek


a shriek from a child
it started

i thought
water water boil-
ing and i ran

into intimacy

but the gasflames blue
tendered
the little things

skin

and was off
like that

dog o' ver ill eaze

on sunday i purchased the film война и мир. that is, in english, war and the world. rather, that is war and peace. war and peace is the title. have you heard of it? i did once, but it fell out of my mouth like cabbage.



















this film, though, o! the director is Sergei Bondarchuk (Сергей Бондарчук). him i had never heard of so he had no chance at becoming cabbage enwrapping dense chopped beef with onions, or here they are called luke (лук), which is also the name for a bow, which i haven't seen here, but the kind that shoots arrows, which i have! a dour-faced man with some dour air about him was carrying arrows like a baby in his arms on sunday when this occurred. they were nestled and not at all threatening as the had no heads, dour-faced or no.

but i purchased this film. it is based on a book by a man that was called the lion son of nikolai tall'st-toy and clearly, the russian naming system is complex and not open to direct translation, but i think i understand enough to get by, so long as this lion son keeps his pen away from me and uses it to play darts with the likeness or effigy of another man named Naples-Leon.

well, some academy had good things to say about this dvd in the '60s, and though i don't trust persons generally from the '60s, i have on occasion, and on this occasion i did.

but of essentials, i want you to hear what was told to me, which is, namely, that if we adjust for inflation (which neither i nor you know how so to do), this film would cost $700 million dollars today, and that is certainly beyond my means, but if you are interested in becoming an investor, let me know and i will email you under the alias of african royalty and give you my paypal account number, and this epic will be greenlighted this very eve!

but also essential is to remember that there are over 120,000 extras for this film and it is over 400 minutes, which is substantial if you (i) drink a gallon of coffee, (ii) cannot pause the film, (iii) have to pay 16 rubles to use any bathroom in the country, but you don't have 16 rubles, all you have is 16 kopecks and you suddenly fear all the worst, that you will be lost to speculative history like Tycho Brahe and the world and your family will disown you for your 16 kopeck poverty, but then you remember "it's no shame to poor", and that's so true: we have come to an agreement you and i.