Cheekbones. His face was narrow, angular. His jaw square--a little too square. A victim of his own bone structure, it seemed sometimes as though his biology had conspired against him to make him appear far more serious than he actually was. He was certainly solemn, at times, but he was never dour--and yet people seemed, time and again, to be put off by his absent-minded, peculiar manner.His dark eyes would crease beneath heavy brows; indeed, he often seemed to be scowling when the truth was far more benign. He needed glasses, but had long before refused to wear them out of some mixture of pride and annoyance. When he seemed to be scowling he was squint
Fingertips Saturday, December FirstThe coats, scarves and glovescan't muffle the elegantdance of fingertips.
Anniversaries. Sunday, December SecondHalf-empty glasses ringthe table as my gaze drifts to the empty chair.
December Fifth. Wednesday, December Fifth:Continents will fall,surrendering to the womb-like comfort of sleep.
Asphyxia I simply cannotbreathe this air.
Boris Yeltsin. Inebriatedpost-revolutionaryadminstrator.
The Apex of the Maelstrom The city was empty.There was a certain vagueness, a timelessness and a placelessness that resonated. In many ways abandonment and isolation were intrinsic to their lives. The choked sky only lent an apocalpytic air to the events that played out beneath the storm-fronts.
Sta.sh
