brainard lake near Boulder - my pic today

Today in the Rockies with Tim Roessler

Ебаться надо уметь.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 30, 2014

Навальный(вскрикивает, качает головой): Ой, блядь! Не, братцы, я, блядь, не могу. Ебаться хочу — силы нет. Ой, охуительно. Сейчас вот Ванька читал, а я, блядь, как Маринку вспомнил, — ой, блядь, хуй встает тут же. А то, что тут, Леха, пиздел ты, — мороз, бля, пот, — хуйня. Пот, блядь! Хуй стоит, как кол, хоть гвозди забивай. А Маринка, я, это, ну... еб бы дни и ночи, бля.
Удальцов: Ну, поебаться хорошо, конечно. Мне тоже хочется. Но пот он ведь тоже... как бы сказать — не хуево. Ебля — это кайф.
Ходорковский: Ебаться надо уметь.
Путин: Еще бы. Надо, блядь, со сноровкой, чтобы было все не херово, так в норме чтоб...
Лимонов: Ебать хорошо летом, когда тепло.
Навальный: Ебать хорошо во все времена года. Надо только, чтобы баба была с соком. Сочная, чтобы все у нее так вот — ну, ладно, все не хуево держалось... (Достает махорку.) Закурим?
Ходорковский: Закурим! Ой, ебать вас раком, махорочка!

Three things I hate about busines by Tim Roessler

Three things I hate about business





I’ve put in time at companies small and large, mostly writing and working on web sites. I’ve also done time in retail, food service, automotive, surveying, and so on. That’s just to say these observations don’t just apply to one place, or even the current place. But to just about every place. These aren't the only things I find annoying; that list would be too long. These are merely the largest hypocrisies that people seem to swallow without noticing.


1. When people pretend it’s not about the money.




That’s all it’s about. Money. Sure, business can be about quality, innovation, personal enrichment (hmm) or whatever other pop psychology blather is fashionable this week.



image via



But it’s about making money. And if you don’t believe me, here’s how you can tell it’s about money. Wait until there isn’t enough coming in. Then even the most laid back, shorts and hoodie wearing dude with sleek new age job title reverts to form.


2. When people pretend it’s not about power.






They’re not bosses. Nope. Boss is hardly a word you hear these days. They’re coaches, entrepreneurs, or even worse – leaders.


And they’re your friend, too, ready to crack a joke or pop open a beer with you. Just chill. Hang out. Open doors! Or no offices at all!! – Just a spot on the floor with the rest of the team.


This is another pretense that is easy to explode. Just disagree about an issue that matters. The response may be temperate, modulated, well reasoned, but it will boil down to this: I’m the boss. You’re not. We’ll do it my way.







3. When people pretend business is cool.


Business is not cool. Figuring out to sell industrial hose, researching wiper blade effectiveness under stringent weather conditions or selling suburban real estate is not cool. It’s necessary and even important. But not cool.



Cool.

photo by Jan Persson


Cool is Miles Davis, Hunter S. Thompson and Jeanne Moreau walking down rain swept Parisian streets in the night.



Not cool. (But you probably knew that).



And no matter how hard you try to weave in your crappy ass top 40s rock-and-roll into the equation, it’s still business. No matter how hip your logo, how au courant your service, it still won’t be cool. It might be valuable. It could change lives, make the world a better place, give clients and employees opportunities they’d never dreamed of.


That’s all more substantial than being a rock star or measuring up to some middle school notion of what's important.

Limonovs advice to middle aged men

Considering subject for my column for present issue I have asked Mark Ames what he wants me to write. Mark suggested to me to write a piece on the subject of health care, something sounding like "How to stay fit at 55," written by Frank Sinatra or Jane Fonda. I laughed. Then I thought, "Why not, as tomorrow is my birthday, I am going to be a fifty-five, and I feel as mad and crazy as ever, as at thirty-five, so why not?"

So I will attempt to create something like "way to a good health," or, "How to stay fit," or, "How to be mad and happy at fifty-five," or "Doctor's Limonov advices to a middle-aged men."

First requirement to fulfill is: the man of fifty-five should go to bed only with young girls. For its religious orgies Tantrism have recommended usage of only very young girls, not older than twenty, as it said in a sacred book "Makhmudra-Tilaka." Jut recently I heard on Radio Liberty that scientists made an astonishing discovery: longevity of a male's life depends on quantity of orgasms he gets during his life. Man who experience many orgasms during his entire life, including old age, live longer and stay younger.

So, in order to stay young, throw away your old wife, never even look at overweight, wrinkled woman. Find yourself a pretty teenage girl and fuck her as often as you can. Don't let a complex of inferiority to overcome you. Contrary to all rules of bourgeois society, in reality young girls like to get an attention of older man, it flatters them. Many girls would be proud to go to bed with you, it will give them enormous sexual thrill that they lack in relationship with partners of their own age. Besides, some girls dream of sexual relationships with their fathers. You will be welcome as a thrilling substitute, believe me, or either I am not Doctor Limonov. Young girls will excite you better. Young girls have a tight, hot pussies, their love juice is a boiling one, on the contrary, love juice of an older woman is glue-like. Young laugh, their freshness, even their naive stupidity will have a rejuvenating effect on you. Listen to stupid hit songs with them, get them drunk, fuck them and be happy.

Don't be upset by your age, don't let social pressure on you to become so strong that you will be choked by numbers of your age. Psychological victory over your age will open you a way to pleasurable and easy life. However, don't stay with a same girl for a long time. Change them.

Take care of your look. It's easy. Just don't eat too much. Russian middle-aged man usually overweight, American man also, as both countries have a bad eating habits. Don't eat three times a day-eat twice a day. Me, for at least twenty years now I never eat breakfast. In the morning I drink few cups of a very strong coffee, or a very strong tea. I never eat before 2pm, or even before 4pm. Second meal I eat between 8 and 9pm. I never limited myself in food consuming, I eat a lot. But for last few years I eat very little of bread, or no bread at all. I like meat, especially pork meat. From a Serbian wars I brought a habit of eating tons of raw onions. My weight now is 67 kilograms. I consume alcohol with pleasure, but sometimes I don't drink during a week or so. I never drink before 6 pm.

As to sport, I have in my apartment my dumb-bells and a weight of 16 kilos. From time to time I do some exercises with weights.

To conclude I must again underline the importance of getting rid of psychological burden of your age, of those silly numbers. Behave yourself as if you don't know your age. As you don't know what behavior is required by society from a man of your age.

Transgress all taboos, be mad. That is the key to a happiness of a man of fifty-five.

Cellular Twitter Robot

A Boulderite walking along the Pearl street texting texting texting with the cell phone issued to him at birth and destined to be laid posthumously in his coffin is sure to text into his phone: 'I am walking'.

If he sits down on a bench he will surely text: 'BTW - I just sat down on a bench'.

Then he will say: 'OMG -I am getting up and walking again !!!'.

It is clear, of course, that no living or dead human being could stand to listen to such communications; consequently, on the other end of the line there sits The Ever-Curious Twitter Robot.

For example, a communication like 'I am walking', gets this Robot terribly worked up and it shouts: 'No shit!!! Unbe-fuckin-lievable! You are walking, man? And just where are you going? And where from? When are you gonna arrive? Huh? Huh? I'll be fucked!'

The peculiarity of this Twitter Robot is that it really wants to know. Because this is its one and only Purpose. If it suddenly loses interest they'll just turn it off and then - end of fuckin story.
LOL

"Avoir une habitation lumineuse c'et éviter les mauvaise surprise" hahaha merci EDF and B

Got pot but need to fly? Colorado airport has the answer -- "MedReturn drug collection units"!! Gee, thnx DIA!

Ах, какая жопа! Глаз не отвести,- Вот бы с этой жопой Ночку провести!

vladimir sorokin

The time has come for me to write a literary essay and answer a question asked by my rarified

russian readership ( all 2 of them ) what are all these grotesque russian things i put in my blog ,

what sort of delirium they represent and where they come from! The truth is that

I never think that anybody actually reads any of it and so i never even bother saying anything

about them., specifying the author...etc.
Most of those essays have the distinctive characteristic of the absolute immunability of its ideas and its idioms, descriptions of incapability of dealing with contemporary life or of making visible and palpable the simplest aspects of creatures and things, they are basically absurd..and yet quite brilliant in their own way!
No, they are not written by Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky or Checkov .., Turgenev, Gogol or Solshenitsyn, not even by Bulgakov or Nekrasov...And here is a well kept russian secret: most Russians have never read War and Piece and use that brick to kill flies and other parasites and I suspect that in rural areas they may use this masterpiece instead of toilet paper due to lack of alternative sources.

The great heroines of russian literature, all these Natashas, Sonyas, Annas and Katushas

put the russian reader to sleep due to complete absense of sex and glamour in their lifes,

and I shall not even bother with all the "kitchen moralism" and religious dogmas that dominate every single book written in the old country by those immortal masters!

So , in my opinion, the only prosaist worthy of attention is...Vladimir Sorokin!

I know some of you will understand..and that is he, who is the author of some passages in my blo

my shrooms and peach pie I made today out of the juiciest colorado palisade peaches

Sophie in Paris

Всё, чего касался ты, казалось

Не таким, как было до тех пор,

То, что разрушал ты, — разрушалось,

В каждом слове бился приговор.

Одинок и часто недоволен,

С нетерпеньем торопил судьбу,

Знал, что скоро выйдешь весел, волен

На свою великую борьбу.

Miranderize the dude

From the Guardian: "No one is crying over the rights of the young man who is accused of killing innocent people, helping his brother set off bombs that were loaded to maim, and terrorizing Boston Thursday night and Friday. But the next time you read about an abusive interrogation, or a wrongful conviction that resulted from a false confession, think about why we have Miranda in the first place. It's to stop law enforcement authorities from committing abuses. Because when they can make their own rules, sometime, somewhere, they inevitably will."
As a practical matter, it would be hard to believe that a smart 19 year old who grew up in the US has never seen a cop show or has never heard of Miranda rights. If that's the case, then the good teachers at Cambridge Rindge & Latin who so admired his intelligence and athletic skill really let him down. In principle, of course, the authorities should read him his Miranda rights. I'm touched --touched!--by the Guardian's concern for US legal procedure. Perhaps that high tone allows them to forget that a member of their own Parlement was starved to death in captivity, or that Tony Blair, along with Bush, remains a war criminal. I guess they've also forgotten how their beloved London bobbies police iced an innocent guy on the bus after that horrible attack in 2006. So much for King's rights. Even though it's kind of mainstream media and all, I'm as interested in the terrorism that turns runners' legs into hamburger meat and that kills an year old child and a grad student who was Chinese, and therefore presumably not tainted with the primal sin of being American. The death of innocents bugs me, whether they are Chechen or Americans. But, speaking personally, I'd be glad if Tamerlan is sucking pus off Satan's left buttock right now, because if there were any justice in this sorry universe that's exactly where he'd be with his brother soon behind him. But hell yeah, read him his rights

America my beautiful - great view from around my house in Boulder Colorado after the snowstorm yesterday

Barn Rules

If you unlock it, lock it back
If you open it, close it
If you borrow it, return it.If you don't know, ask.
If you drive it, check the oil.
If you lose it, replace it.
If it doesn't concern you, don't mess with it.
If you turn it on, turn it off.
If you break it, fix it.If you move it, put it back.
If you throw it down, pick it up.
If you ride it, feed it.
If it drinks water, give it some.
If you fall off, get back on.

...Back at the hotel, he strips and I gobble two of my fortuitous codeine tablets. I know what my duty is. Whithin an hour, I'm in that sparkling night gallery made of little explosions of codeine. It blots out most sociological details surrounding our situation, leaves only his hard , shadowy body inexcplicably laid out for me, dappled by the streetlight piercing the gaps in the heavy curtains. This is a funereal, or should I say vampiric, scene. I fall to my knees in the darkness because I know that to worship his abjection is to drink at the fount of cultural doom and play at entangling my fate with his. He's a door out of of the repetitive banalities of North American capitalism.His penis plunges into my throat like an eel into inky water. ...

From "The Romanian" by Bruce Benedrson.

My Furry Sophie!!!

Я не владел тобой и вряд ли овладею...
Случайный бар, знакомство и вино.
И это все. Я, право, сожалею,
Что видеться нам больше не дано.
Но как чудесно, что воображенье,
Живя в душе избранников искусств,
Порой такое дарит наслажденье,
Такую остроту и свежесть чувств,
Что я вчера в распивочной дешевой,
Где хмель, густея, закипал в крови,
Тянул и мямлил, но, на все готовый.
Сходил с ума и бредил от любви.
Ты понял все... - не в этом дело!
Ведь полчаса, украдкой, словно тать,
Я видел губы, видел твое тело.
Дарованную
встречей благодать.

Caractéristiques du 43 rue Saint-Denis

Уж климакс близится а Германа всё нет.....( зто был последний репортаж перед отъездом обратно в америку с улицы сан дени)