paveltashkinov's thread

Discuss any questions in English. Practise your writing skills.

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paveltashkinov
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#201

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

It’s 3.30 AM, and I’m heading home, reflecting on the night I had
It was just on a whim that I decided to drop in at this party. I had got bored with packing up my things, browsing the Internet, and writing some nonsense. No matter what I tried, boredom plagued me. I scrolled down my newsfeed and chanced upon an announcement of some party at some place. The place I had been to before back in the days when it was situated elsewhere. They must have moved away last autumn. Okay, I’m coming.
Sometimes, not having to drive a car may be so comforting and liberating. I stocked up on booze and snacks, hopped on a bus, plugged my earplugs in. Half an hour later, I arrived at the venue.
To say that the place had changed would be to say nothing. The guys used to hang around at some small, dark bomb shelter almost without any provisions. Now, it was (not so surprisingly, really) a warehouse, way more spacious, and with all the amenities included. There were three rooms to roam around and party in. Most importantly, there was a semblance of kitchen with the sink and the tap, and there was a toilet. We somehow used to get by without these, if only because we could go to the adjacent club twenty meters away to relieve ourselves, and we could gorge on delivery food if we were really hungry.
First things first. The rooms to party in. Well. I spent my first half an hour meeting and greeting all sorts of people from all walks of life. Designers, photographers, artists of all sorts. You name them. Some band was about to play, and they were heard soundchecking in one of the rooms. Some action was going to happen, this I knew. Booze, now merrily sloshing in my stomach, was going to catalyze the inevitable. Who are these people? Girls, you’re under the age, please back off. Would you take a pic of me standing against this wall? Pass me this paint spray please. I used to do some graffiti bombing as an adolescent. All sorts of crazy shit happened. It’s all water under the bridge, anyway. Hope you don’t mind me occasionally giving a straight-arm salute with a bottle of wine and dappling some runes and galdrastavs to your freshly drawn logotypes and insignias.
Heavy riffs of guitars and blasts of drums reached my ears. Let the action begin. A decade ago, I’d say there’s going to be a veritable boot party. I’m glad that the adolescents of today are way smarter and less violent than we were back then. I breezed into the room the band were playing in and joined the folks by storming right into the middle of the crowd. Slam ensued. The booze hit me. Looks like I wasn’t the only casualty. People started to queue up near the restroom door. To get some rest, I went to the chillout zone and grabbed yet another bottle of wine…was it third of fourth? Whatever. Five minutes after, I found myself dazedly nodding to the beat of some house track. I looked ay my wristwatch. Eleven thirty p.m. Sunday. Will I become a cantankerous adult who would frown upon the ways of youth? Either way, it’s not what’s going to happen tonight.
As I sat on the bench and drank my wine, I noticed that the party seemed to be slowly fizzling out. I saw some people leave. I went back to the dancefloor, right at the moment when the band was about to play their last song. I blew my lungs out singing aloud and accidentally trampled on at least three people who happened to stand close to me. No big deal. Finally, the band left, after the five minutes of savage cheers, salutes and applauses.
We cleaned up the place and burst into the crisp freshness of a winter night outside. The party had to be going on, so we made up our mind to go to some pub just ten minutes away, which we did. I was looking forward to opening some valves to release the built-up pressure and rehydrating myself after that. Oh, they finally opened a joint on the first floor. French fries wouldn’t get in the way, too.
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#202

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

I watched the dotted lines blurring past and the green of the road signs briefly lit up by the headlights. I was doing one hundred and thirty. The playlist seemed to have become too repetitive one thousand kilometres ago. I kept trying to fight off my drowsiness. To cover more than two thousand kilometres in just three days was by no means a small feat, but something that could be definitely managed with due caution. After all, if that woman had done it, so could I. It was the fourth day, but I was driving alone, after all. I turned the radio off and continued my journey in the sulky silence of my reflections. I wasn’t sure this was a better alternative, though.
“It’s all out of boredom. Neither of you has uttered the word. All these what-ifs and innuendos make no sense at all, and you both know that. Why, then, do you keep up these pretences?”
I tried to push out this thought, the thought that had held me back for so long. “What if she doesn’t show up? I’ve had another episode like that before, and it still aches. Well, when something seems too good to be true, it is too good to be true. Oh, perish the thought.”
I took a turnoff and, after quarter of an hour, parked the car near a desolate twenty-five storey building, which happened to be my rented Airbnb. The keys were left in the mailbox, just as it had been arranged. I entered a poorly lit elevator, the walls of which were tainted with graffiti and paper ads. The eighteenth floor.
The flat I entered was small yet surprisingly tidy. There was an electric stove in the kitchen, a decent shower booth, a rather comfortable bed, and a TV set, now mute. Given how little I had to shell out for this, it was more than reasonable. I stretched my back after the long drive I had just been through, got undressed and slumbered to the refreshing coolness of the shower. Jets of the pleasantly lukewarm water bit my body and chased my drowsiness and tiredness away. The evening ahead was going to be promising.
I put some clean clothes on and checked my phone. Five missed calls from an unknown number. Oh, let me guess who it could be. As if there could have been someone else calling. No.
One hour later, I found myself sitting in a café three kilometres away, a cup of coffee steaming in my hand, two thirds of a cheesecake on the plate in front of me. It helped me think. Whether or not it was a good thing remained to be seen. My smartphone buzzed with a notification. I didn’t bother to look at it.
Five minutes later, in the café burst a tall lithe girl with ash-blonde hair, the same mask of superfluous interest on her face, the same craziness beneath it, the same detachment in her eyes. How is this hard, glossy look called?
I recognized her, without a shade of fear. Oddly enough, I didn’t really feel anything. At first, my mind went completely blank. I felt neither fear nor revulsion nor any desire to talk to that woman. A wave of exhaustion seemed to have hit me again. I coughed my throat, and involuntarily caught her attention.
I saw her flinch. I heard her gasp. That was enough. I should have seen a coward that she was back then, during our first and last adventure, when we accidentally went in a not so salubrious neighbourhood and spotted some miscreants dancing by their shitty music blasting from their cars parked nearby. No sooner had I become aware of this potential danger and started to think of the best possible course of action than she grabbed me by my left forearm and pulled me away with a force so incredible that I thought I’d get my hand strained. She hissed “Let’s get the fuck out of her, now” before I could feel the reassuring cold of a sharp slab of steel in my pocket. She wasn’t that ferocious, after all. Crazy, insatiable, yet cowardly. I would still like to have heard her scream in the receiver of my then-girlfriend when her shitty ploy failed.
My lips contorted in a derisive smirk, and my nostrils flared as the reminiscences were flicking through my memory. I slowly stood up and beckoned her over, my palm facing inward, my glare never leaving the pallid complexion of the girl. I watched her face growing paler than ever before, drooping with dismay and fear. I made a small step toward her, only to see her turning back and darting out of the café. As the door banged, I rested easy in the rocking chair I had occupied before. Through the window, I saw her rushing back into her car and driving away.
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#203

Сообщение VictorB »

paveltashkinov,
paveltashkinov пишет: 07 янв 2020, 10:19 To say that the place had changed would be to say nothing.
To me, the last part of the sentence—"would be to say nothing"--seems to be one of the false friends of the translator.
I'd put it, "… would be a bit of an/something of an understatement", or just "an understatement".
I may be mistaken, though)
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#204

Сообщение VictorB »

paveltashkinov пишет: 07 янв 2020, 10:19 under the age
under age
https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dicti ... /under-age
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#205

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

Without vulnerability one cannot have truly fulfilling experiences, and without fuller experiences one becomes unaware of the great possibilities of one’s own potential and what life has in store in general. That’s why people end up dreaming smaller and smaller.
The late 20s are an incredible age to live in.
Looks like I know what to do with myself. Keep swimming and make it ashore. You will not sink. Forge ahead.
The Universe seems to have presented me with a path of least resistance job-wise. I have some growth, but it feels like it’s not as organic as it could be. It’s like I jumped onto a lifeboat, but the boat remained attached to the large ship. I favour routine. I look for distractions and justify my behaviour with whatever excuses.
If the Universe cares too much to favour me, I may experience more crises later in life that will throw me off the ship whereupon I’ll be faced with the three inevitable options. Sink into the ocean, make a complete U-turn onto “the safe ship” of something else which is familiar and comfortable, or keep swimming and have faith I will overcome.
If it doesn’t, I’ll be left alone and I’ll live a life being careful not to rock the boat and do my best to maintain a semblance of familiar life.
I need to muster up the courage to carry on from within. The only choice is to keep on swimming. It’s not going to be an easy swim, but I will stay afloat.
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#206

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

a blackshirt from Rome

There stands a great city below azure skies,
And there lives a man with an arrogant stride.
The pillars of salt, eternally wry
Derisively mock him with their lifeless smile.

Vying for purpose, poor man lost his mind,
And how he’s a vagabond, he’s a far cry
From his former self. Behold ye and see:
He’s nothing but shadows of what could have been.

Repentance, defiance, acceptance, disgrace
Have all irredeemably wrinkled his face.
Just one of the many, he is carrying on
With sinew and courage, but wretched, forlorn,

Abandoned by many, despised by a few,
Detached by his choice and estranged by a slew.
By foolishness cursed and by wisdom distraught,
He’ll never find solace, at no time and spot.
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#207

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

I was set free, yet it felt like I was just drifting in a huge shallow ocean. It seemed comforting and lulling, yet I knew that I shouldn’t let it carry me away lest I get used to its enshrouding soothing warmth and never make it ashore. I had to start again, but before that, I had to swim. Whither I swam I didn’t know. This uncertainty, once unwanted and feared, horrifying even, was now a part of my life, and I was trying to make friends with it. This accommodating attitude helped: the horizon was assuming a more definite shape. I could make out some signs. Some of them seemed ominous and hostile, others looked gleeful and enticing. To my own surprise, this mishmash cheered me up. I felt well-equipped to tackle the adversity and unknown ahead. The deadweight of the past had been finally cast aside. Nothing tied me back and nothing held me back.
Like a bear, I was slowly yet relentlessly chasing my prey beyond the horizon. With methodical mighty motions, I was ripping the body of water apart. Though my muscles already grew tired and ached, I found it pleasant to feel the chillness of the water streaming between my shoulder blades, along my ribs and thighs. I breathed in, and then I breathed out. The Sun was yet to reach its zenith and become deadly and scorching. For the time being, its rays fell on the emerald brackish water, got reflected and absorbed in myriad ways. The water was transparent, and I saw my shadow on the shallow sandy bottom which was still out of my reach. Its shape was magnified, and now it resembled that of a wild boar or some other ferocious beast, devoid of any emotion and feeling, spurred by the instincts and the will to survive. My mind was completely blank save for the thought of making it ashore safe.
I kept swimming.
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#208

Сообщение VictorB »

paveltashkinov,
paveltashkinov пишет: 03 янв 2020, 02:19 There was just one thought that kept throbbing in our ears through the cold, fear and pain. Hold out.
Maybe the thought kept throbbing in their heads, and it was "Hold fast!"
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#209

Сообщение Егор »

paveltashkinov пишет: 28 мар 2020, 02:18 a blackshirt from Rome
СпойлерПоказать
There stands a great city below azure skies,
And there lives a man with an arrogant stride.
The pillars of salt, eternally wry
Derisively mock him with their lifeless smile.

Vying for purpose, poor man lost his mind,
And how he’s a vagabond, he’s a far cry
From his former self. Behold ye and see:
He’s nothing but shadows of what could have been.

Repentance, defiance, acceptance, disgrace
Have all irredeemably wrinkled his face.
Just one of the many, he is carrying on
With sinew and courage, but wretched, forlorn,

Abandoned by many, despised by a few,
Detached by his choice and estranged by a slew.
By foolishness cursed and by wisdom distraught,
He’ll never find solace, at no time and spot.
Your poetry really makes me want to sing a song in Old or Middle English:)
I wolde singen a songe, but I'm a badde singir, so insteade I'm gonnae goe aheade and write a shorte texte.

Earlye Morninge (In Middle English)

'Tis morninge and the sun ys uppe,
I stonde uppe and shave me selfe to looken freshe and seksyie,
My spouse drinketh koffeon and readeth newes upon the Ynternet,
And shrieketh, "Thys sucketh! I'm fedde-uppe!
I'm so fedde-uppe wyth thys quarantinaeon!Thys worlde ys doomede!"
I smile and eate a radishe salade and skraemblede yeggs.
The dogge barketh, he wanteth out.
Out syde. There ys a neighboure woman sittinge upon a benche.
I realize she ys sittinge VERY WRONGE to wear a skirte.
Thys maketh me smile and I saye, "Goode morninge, damsel!" onto hir.
My dogge barketh and we keepen on goinge.
My dogge loveth me and I love hym too. We love ich othir!
We love oure earlye morninges.
=======================

Okay, I hope you understand this is just a joke. This was in NO WAY meant to offend you, I'm just really bored at the moment. Very bored.

Just a couple of months ago, I was juggling jobs and I prayed to God to give me just one single day, so I could wake up in the morning and fall back to sleep and be sleeping until it's dark again, and now with all this pandemic craziness, with all places shut down and nowhere to go, I have a truckload of free time to myself – and I am bored suddenly. Anyway like said before – that story, it's only a joke. I also don't intend to hog your thread with stories of yore in the future, I promise:)

I have read a couple of your texts and I have to say they're very impressive. I don't think I'm in the position to give any advice to you. One thing though –
don't go too crazy with big words, just ease up on them a bit, but otherwise you're very cool. And I liked your poem, no joke.
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#210

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

Obeying the trends of the globalist, antinationalist epoch, national geopolitics has become insipid. How can one raise the issue of some ‘national’ interests, whatever those may be, when the fabric of nations is being torn apart, when the only common denominator between different nations lies either in the realm of humanism and cosmopolitanism or in some polished version of the so-called ‘traditional’ values? Each of these options is nothing but farce when gauged against ethnically homogeneous nations of the past. What is the point in defending something that has no concrete shape? Under the conditions of constant deconstruction and degradation, each ‘national body’ loses its essence. Like a tsunami, this process is unavoidable.

We have all become mere spectators of some “geopolitical games”, “challenges to the unipolar world” and a panoply of other similar processes occurring in international relations. Although these trends may be explained within the existing framework of politics, they have all become incredibly boring. Any geopolitical rivalry of today seems to boil down to the apparent dichotomy between authoritarianism and democracy.

The politicians of today are talking about oil pipelines, drug trafficking, missile sites. Gone is the era of great ideological standoffs. Curiously enough, the death of ideologies seems to have coincided with the death of national homogeneity. As a result, we are witnessing a situation in which the world is teeming with events, but these events evoke nothing but a derisive smile due to their sheer insignificance. Their significance, or lack thereof, lies now solely in their influence on the global economy. Materialism has become the measure of all things, and now it is driving the nail in the coffin of humanity.

Do not waste your time justifying this refined, emasculated restoration of ‘traditional’ values, for it is a priori impossible in the globalized world. Nor should you try to ascribe certain political actions to some underlying nebulous geopolitical interests, for their influence is extremely narrow in scope. We are living in the world where even the hegemons have become all but grey pawns, incarcerated in the dungeon of victorious Marxism.
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#211

Сообщение VictorB »

paveltashkinov пишет: 23 апр 2020, 13:38 Like a tsunami, this process is unavoidable.
Since a tsunami is a natural phenomenon, maybe cataclysmic would work better?
I think that the possibility of avoiding it, or a lack thereof, is somewhat optional. I may be mistaken, though:-)
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#212

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

VictorB,
No, I'm afraid that's exactly what I meant. Unavoidable in the sense that it can be neither bypassed nor stopped.
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#213

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

A warm emerald wave reaches the shore, its billows splashing onto and crashing against some black weathered rocks and pebbles. The air smells of salt, seaweed, and shells. The Sun is timidly rising on the horizon, and the greyish sky is taking on a topaz tinge.
Some gulls hover above the metallic ripples of the sea, and I marvel at how big these creatures are. I hear some shells and small crabs cracking under my bare soles. Their fragments, biting into my feet, make me hop from one foot to the other. The sand is pleasantly chilling.
I walk down a breakwater near the lighthouse. Its slippery rock surface is covered with seaweed, so I tread carefully. I make my way to the tip of the breakwater where it abruptly tapers off into the vastness of the sea. A gust of wind hurls a scarf off my neck. I turn around to watch it aloft, being carried away by the mighty stream of air, until it finally lands on the rippling water some fifty meters away. I smile. I throw my backpack on the breakwater along with my shoes and clothes. I put my glasses into a boot.
I breathe in and jumps off into the sea. Its refreshing chillness takes my breath away for a second. I make it back to the surface to refill my lungs with air, only to dive back a second later. I briskly swim toward the horizon. Through the layer of almost transparent water, I see some crabs burying themselves in the sand beneath me. I see my hands ripping the body of water apart, and I feel a pleasant warmth filling my muscles with every movement I make. This piece of cloth over there must be my scarf. I reach out to it, and tug it towards me, wrapping it around my neck. My hands are covered with goosebumps. Suddenly, I realise how hungry I am.
It’s time to move along.
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#214

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

Into the deep from on dizzying heights.
What a sight as the world flies by.


Three hours ago, I splurged on something I had been thinking about for quite a while.
A flask of Fucking Fabulous by Tom Ford.
Never before had I shelled out that hell of a lot of money for a fragrance. Nor, I guess, am I ever going to do that again. Admittedly, this circumstance only adds up to the experience.
First things first. It is poles apart from every fragrance I have ever used. I put just one spray on my chest one and a half hours ago, and now I am imbibing this concoction. It is...interesting. Vanilla? Some tints here and there. Something creamy? Right. Now that I think of it, it reminds me of some rooibos beverages that I used to be fond of. Frankincense? As the composition wears off, it does manifest itself, albeit not too boldly.
Reviews are confusing, and the opinion is polarized. Love-hate, almost without something in between. Baby wipes? Have no idea how they smell, really, so I cannot really relate. Sage? Again, not really. Some tinctures? Miss, again. Lavender? If only I knew how it smells like.
Is it masculine? Well, truth be told, I doubt. Some may say it takes some audacity to wear it, and I kinda know why. Men and women alike turn their heads to me as I walk past them. The silage (by the way, that’s how one acquires the language. I would never have come across this word if it had not been for my research on fragrances) is monstrous. I give zero fucks.
The composition is enveloping, intense, sensuous. Still, I can’t but wonder: is it as fabulous as it purports to be? Frankly, I can’t but doubt, even with my limited experience fragrance-wise. A lot of people complain about the name being pretentious af and the product being overhyped. They are definitely within their right to do so. Whatever floats their boats. Let’s admit it: any fragrance per se is overpriced and overhyped. It is not a necessity. It is a commodity. More so, it is a bit of luxury. Even more so, when it bears someone’s name. Yes, it is ridiculously expensive. Perhaps, I am too profligate and reckless to have taken as huge a leap of faith as that, but, at the end of the day, I like it.
I am yet to see how my woman will react to that smell on me.
I feel there’s something kinky about it. I was seduced. Where is my leather underwear?
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#215

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

“It must be so nice in the summer.”
“Yes, it must be, especially on that bank over there.”

Behind our eyes were a river and the vivid green of the opposite bank. We were sitting on a fallen tree and dreamily gazing at the stream of tepid water flowing in front of us. The marble of the birch forest was tainted with the malachite of the meadows which were seen in the distance.

It was one of the first warm days of the spring when everything seems to be casting the lethargy of the winter aside and to be breathing with vigour. This change felt so welcoming and refreshing, even more so against the backdrop of the pandemics.

I took our glasses off and put them down on my backpack. Amidst a wild osculation that ensued, I caught myself thinking about the inebriating novelty of the experience. Her taste always lingered on my tongue and my lips. It just felt differently. It felt so right.
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#216

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

Into the deep from on dizzying heights.

What a sight as the world flies by.

Three hours ago, I splurged on something I had been thinking about for quite a while.

A flask of Fucking Fabulous by Tom Ford.

Never before had I shelled out that hell of a lot of money for a fragrance. Nor, I guess, am I ever going to do that again. Admittedly, this circumstance only adds up to the experience.

First things first. It is poles apart from every fragrance I have ever used. I put just one spray on my chest one and a half hours ago, and now I am imbibing this concoction. It is...interesting. Vanilla? Some tints here and there. Something creamy? Right. Now that I think of it, it reminds me of some rooibos beverages that I used to be fond of. Frankincense? As the composition wears off, it does manifest itself, albeit not too boldly.

Reviews are confusing, and the opinion is polarized. Love-hate, almost without something in between. Baby wipes? Have no idea how they smell, really, so I cannot really relate. Sage? Again, not really. Some tinctures? Miss, again. Lavender? If only I knew how it smells like.

Is it masculine? Well, truth be told, I doubt. Some may say it takes some audacity to wear it, and I kinda know why. Men and women alike turn their heads to me as I walk past them. The silage (by the way, that’s how one acquires the language. I would never have come across this word if it had not been for my research on fragrances) is monstrous. I give zero fucks.

The composition is enveloping, intense, sensuous. Still, I can’t but wonder: is it as fabulous as it purports to be? Frankly, I can’t but doubt, even with my limited experience fragrance-wise. A lot of people complain about the name being pretentious af and the product being overhyped. They are definitely within their right to do so. Whatever floats their boats. Let’s admit it: any fragrance per se is overpriced and overhyped. It is not a necessity. It is a commodity. More so, it is a bit of luxury. Even more so, when it bears someone’s name. Yes, it is ridiculously expensive. Perhaps, I am too profligate and reckless to have taken as huge a leap of faith as that, but, at the end of the day, I like it.

I am yet to see how my woman will react to that smell on me.

I feel there’s something kinky about it. I was seduced. Where is my leather underwear?
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#217

Сообщение Егор »

lol I so wish to god I didn't know now what I didn't know just one minute ago. Pavel, do you seriously own leather underwear? Please don't think I'm judging, I'm not, but ...


Dude!
Seriously!
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#218

Сообщение Easy-Breezy English »

O.M.G. This definitely got my attention.
And btw, Pavel, I'm not sure that zero fucks is what you should be necessarily striving for.
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#219

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

There is no word ‘enough’ for certain people. They stop at nothing. A majority of people who carry weight in society belong to this cohort. In principle, this strategy is good insofar as you do not infringe on the sphere of influence of such people.

A sphere of influence is a domain in which a man can affect, whether rationally or emotionally, your actions and your worldview. It does not matter whether we are talking about your culinary habits or your career path. What does matter is the extent to which your own actions stem from your own decisions rather than some external manipulation.

Many a time, you cannot point the finger at the manipulator himself, for he may have nothing to do with this manipulation. It is irrational. Such is the way the strong-willed individuals live. They change the world, unbeknownst to themselves.

Would you like to be at the epicentre or on the periphery of this phenomenon? How often do you feel that external influence in the most trivial things in your life? Self-reflection will help you to wrap your mind around the situation, strip it down to essentials and find yourself. It is impossible to become an influencer without gaining your own independence beforehand.

If you, for whatever reason, acquiesced and relinquished the struggle for your independence for the sake of yielding to someone’s sphere of influence, there is one thing that should be borne in mind. There is never ‘enough’. You are bound to be squashed and ground. You are bound to become a mere spectator in the rigmarole of your own life. Such is the ineluctable denouement for weak people under the framework of ‘soft’ Social-Darwinism.

Do you think that Social-Darwinism perished after the Second World War? No way. It still exists, albeit in disguise. Contemporary left-wing policies do their best to overcome those last vestiges of the past, but they will fail to do so. Social-Darwinism is inextricably imbued in the flesh and blood of those who despise equality. Only if meritocracy irreversibly crumbles under the yoke of Communism will Social-Darwinism be overcome. In this scenario, however, dismal darkness is going to reign supreme in life of each and every individual.

You need to stand up not only for your place under the Sun, but also for the independence of your worldview. You have not been talked to about such matters before, because it is an unwritten law, seemingly insignificant at first glance. It is this law, however, that defines who is bound to be a genuine individual and who shall remain a puppet on a string.
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#220

Сообщение tourist »

Hey, it's been a while. )

I must confess that many a time I would be awaken, imbued with shivery sudor,
ratiocinating about Pavel's well-being and whereabouts,
for he might have gotten into some hullabaloo kerfuffle of late.
Unbeknown to Pavel, a massive brouhaha has ensued
when he has inadvertently acquiesced and relinquished
his duty to indite on EFL.
But insofar as I am concerned, Pavel, an indomitable influencer he is,
is still eminently salubrious and utterly unscathed.
This can unequivocally serve as an undeniable vestige
of his Bunyanesque adroitness as well as his Brobdingnagian nimbleness.

An ineluctable denouement indeed! ))
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#221

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

tourist,
This forum seems to have been moribund for quite a while. Besides, I got a life and was busy with more down-to-earth matters.)
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#222

Сообщение paveltashkinov »


we’ll all live in the morning



Die Zeit ist reif für ein bisschen Zärtlichkeit
Irgendwie, irgendwo, irgendwann.


They say, great things never come from the comfort zone. If only there were one. Perhaps, this cliche is not without a grain of truth (hello, a cliche!). What else can I ascribe (yet another fancy word I should perhaps avoid) my writing block to?

The truth is, I have found some certainty amidst the pandemics.

I used to write because something was stinging and stirring me. I would churn out a short poem or a story, without attracting much readership. Who would have thought. My more optimistic pieces would be more palatable and would win a favourable nod from my audience, some people from some English forums I would never get to know. It was somewhat akin to mental masturbation (crossed out) trying my hand (what a terrible pun) at something I was perhaps passionate about. Just it.

These days are gone. Even my diary notes, once utterly verbose, have become more and more condensed, concise, and infrequent. It is not that there is nothing to write about. I am just busy living and enjoying every moment of my life, without over-thinking. I wish I had an attitude like that back in my early 20s. I can console myself with the thought that many people will not have experienced a regret like this until they are in their 40s.

The angle I look at the world from seems to have changed. I came to terms with something I had previously been afraid of and made a meaning of what once was my fear.

I found an incredible strength in my ordinariness.
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#223

Сообщение VictorB »

Hey, Pavel,
I'm glad you're back again!
paveltashkinov пишет: 11 окт 2020, 04:31 They say, great things never come from the comfort zone.
To me, this one didn't seem trite or obvious.
Had to search for the exact quote and its author:
"Great things never came from comfort zones"
Neil Strauss

Browsing the net, I ran across this one and thought you might like it too:
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Samuel Beckett
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#224

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

VictorB,
Well, truth be told, I've been putting English on the back burner for quite a while because of the reasons I stated in the post above.
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#225

Сообщение paveltashkinov »

The American Dream has long been dead.

The core belief that your hard work and determination will bear fruits and help you secure your place under the Sun no longer works.

Unfortunately, this has more far-reaching repercussions than it may seem on the first glance.

America and the rest of the developed world seem to be experiencing what is the reality of their political class adopting the neo-liberal economic consensus since the 1970s. The elite rich and the upper managers of the large corporations have become richer while the poor and the middle-class have become more impoverished and have been struggling to maintain their lifestyle. Even if you strive and achieve some material success, your reward will be less than a tenth of what a child of the elite classes will inherit. The period from the 1870s to 1970s where industrial and technological change led to material improvements in social conditions and people’s material well-being has ended. We seem to be returning to the social and economic inequalities which held sway before the Industrial Revolution.
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