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Pantelleria

Stars over Pantelleria1
And over a riad, hidden from the whole world in a medina2
Through the canopy3
They flicker like your eyes in the night
 
In a planetarium in the middle of the desert
Night clouds hang like stucco
Reminding us of the Empire style of apartments
In that Stalinist skyscraper where we lived3
 
The tree grows deep, you know
The trembling waters are an valuable treasure
The tree blossoms and gives a sign
Carefully nourishes you and leads away
 
Broken mosaic under the foliage
Abandoned park from a series of dreams
May you always be kept by your
Special detachment of lions roaming the water
 
On the days when it's slush outside, turn on the beat
You'll remember Capri and Amalfi
Atlas and Alps, distant lighthouses
Lazy summer in the courtyard
This is not a verse - this is a talisman
 
Stars over Pantelleria
And over a riad, being hidden from the whole world in a medina
They blessed your steps along the way
Looking from under the Virgin Mary's handkerchief
 
Grapes, dates, pomegranates, figs
Outside your beauty they are bitterer than wormwood
As the drunken Hasid told us, twisting
Next year in Jerusalem4
 
Gloom, moon over Africa
Even in the theater of operations, an intermission is taken
You are at the gates to the park, look
Jacques Majorelle and Yves Saint Laurent are walking there5
 
They snake through arches of grasses
Gravel underfoot creaks to the beat
Maghreb is snoring, the dial says tick-tock
And it's so blue that the flowers are sleeping, blinking their petals
 
Garden is covered with ceramics and marble
The trail is entwined with blackthorn and laurel
A bird lands on a palm tree
A lion is sitting, mirroring in the water
 
They patrol the perimeter of your sleep
As long as your strength is dormant
Let them grow, the cold will subside, evaporate
Over the alley, don't forget that spring is ahead
If the city goes crazy, it means the sun will soon rise
But until then
 
Stars over Pantelleria
And over a riad, hidden from the whole world in a medina
Through the canopy
They flicker like your eyes in the night
 
Grapes, dates, pomegranates, figs
Outside your beauty they are bitterer than wormwood
As the rabbi told the muezzin:
'Look at the stars over Pantelleria'
 

• 1. Pantelleria (Italy) is an island in the Mediterranean between Tunisia and the Apennine Peninsula.
• 2. A riad is a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard. Medina is the old part of an Arab city.
• Canopy is a curtain, a cover around the bed, covering from light, sounds, dust.
• 4. Among Jews, after the end of the Seder Pesach service, outside of Jerusalem, the words 'Next year in Jerusalem' are traditionally said. The author is of Jewish origin himself.
• 5. Jacques Majorelle is a French orientalist artist (this genre is characterized by the so-called 'dialogue of cultures' - West and East), who traveled a lot, and was inspired, among other things, by Italy.
  Yves Saint Laurent is a French fashion designer (“high fashion”), who noted, in particular, that he was inspired in his work by the works of painters: “... I always strive for the purity of the lines of Matisse.”

A mayor's word

Why do I call you, I know you're not home. I'm going outside, everybody's talking only about that you're involved in a conspiracy against the mayor. I called everybody, nobody knows where you are. I came to you, the door was opened, at least I took the copy. Please, call me right once you hear this message.
 
What to say? I see, someone have treaded on a rake
You have dissapointed me, you was tormented
The mountain is like on a hand under us, smog with smoke above it
Wine maybe? I have a pretty tolerable vineyard
The main thing, you don't get so scared, I'm not a monster
I have even browsed your published folio. Bravo, bis!
You would further write, joke, write about nature, pastorals
Okay, don't be so gloom, my eagles have overdone a bit too much
They didn't have to spoil your shirt and drag you to gallows
Why don't you, asshole, calm down? Relax, have fun, don't piss1
Those like you always see only negative, put on scales
But I worry for all the citizens, as if every one of them is my only son
I know, enemies claim that I am, allegedly, afraid of many
That I, allegedly, entwine the whole land like a cephalopod clam
Let be so, but what it will be if I go?
The neighboring cities, removed their despots, die in need. For comparison here are:
 
Mountain air, sport and health, resort
Casino, trading house, food courts
Welcome to Gorgorod!
A model of confortable rest
Golf, aquadrom and curling
Welcome to Gorgorod!
Handball world record
Hippodromes, cathedrals, bowling
Welcome to Gorgorod!
My people don't want reforms
And when fed again
Welcome to Gorgorod!
 
You have assembled only a half of the puzzle
Oil painting2, social lift like in Maslow's pyramid
The crowd is many-headed like Hydra or Cerberus
But it doesn't make the weather like a meteorological center
It, though I'm not Niccolò Machiavelli,
Revering, is allured to a block3, loop or stake,
Fear, chrism, icons, khaki, needle and shackles
You are way smarter, why the hell for you such plebeians? Eh?
The idiot under the mountain had washed your brains
'Everything is intertwined' another year, a bearded anecdote
A rogue-conspirologist. We're familiar with the Guru since
That troublesome warrior was an official, the one whose word was the law
Let's assume, enemies claim that I am, allegedly, afraid of many
Let's assume that I, allegedly, entwine the whole land like a cephalopod clam
Let's assume it is so, but what it will be if I go?
The neighboring cities, removed their despots, die in need. For comparison here is:
 
Mountain air, sport and health, resort
Casino, trading house, food courts
Welcome to Gorgorod!
A model of confortable rest
Golf, aquadrom and curling
Welcome to Gorgorod!
Handball world record
Hippodromes, cathedrals, bowling
Welcome to Gorgorod!
My people don't want reforms
And when fed again
Welcome to Gorgorod!
 
You understand, writer, you're a good guy
But you got in touch with a bad company. They, beasts, on purpose
Left you, barely feeling the small of burning
Look, there's dawn on the horizon, we even the Sun have under the legs
Keep in mind that this time you're lucky, career
Health, freedom — everything's okay
But here it is for you a mayor's word: there won't be a second chance
Shortly, take care, if once again speak with my daughter Alisa
 

• 1. Colloquial and slang form of the phrase 'don't be scared'
• 2. In Russian, a funny, ridiculous, extraordinary situation
• 3. Executioner's block

Intertwined

Everything is intertwined, a sea of webs, but
Pull the web, a clew will go after
This world is a spindle, zero coincidences
To be the web or a string, or a bowstring for a battle
 
Everything is intertwined in a single hank,
Web lump and not a callico handkerchief
The wind from the sky blows the tumble-weed
Everything is intertwined, but not predetermined
 
This is the world's picture of those,
Who counter yours, as a sect
'Cause everythings doesn't have a single architect
Everythings is intertwined, I'm destined to die here as a heretic.
 
Your world's picture is a grid,
A canvas, a textile napkin,
As if by work of a weaver or a sewer
But everything is intertwined, by itself, aslant, athwart
 
Everything is intertwined. There's a certificate in my hand,
That I hold the brain, but the heart goes free
My city gets tired to fix the power after despots
In a cut there's causal relationship
 
And there, everything is intertwined. Satyricon is everywhere
Inaction of law under assistance of icons
Kill yourself if not a cop or an official,
Our city won't be saved even by a miraculous salve
 
Though, everything is intertwined, time and Zeitnot,
Still life of death, official's bed, paper circulation,
But everyone is lonely in their body, a slaver and a Zealot
But, the city is a layered cake
 
You know, the world is, actually, simple: don't loan,
Don't bargain, guard the roof
Don't fuck the head1, don't say 'gop,'2
Protect psychos, strangers, heretics. 'Cause everything is intertwined
 
TV and terror, there are a brothel and casino with the church,
Cartels, an orphanage. It's darkness above the city hall,
Where an antipode to all this system, if from money for shit
Conglomerates make patent on an antidote
 
Here, not knowing whole categories of the ecosystem,
These blockheads divide everything, as a council of directors
But cabinets, favelas, hideout nests, a city council,
Political technologists, lenders, synod —
 
This is the world's picture of those,
Who counter yours, as a sect
'Cause everythings doesn't have a single architect
Everythings is intertwined, I'm destined to die here as a heretic.
 
Your world's picture is a grid,
A canvas, a textile napkin,
As if by work of a weaver or a sewer
But everything is intertwined, by itself, with hell knows what, athwart
 
Everything is intertwined. There's a certificate in my hand,
That I keep the nose, but the heart is in the run
I fiercely want spring, blindly on the edge, lucid dreams,
Flashbacks, dejavu, here even Devil would break his leg [complicated]
 
And even Astaroth all the same, jump-jump,
From isle to isle, tire fitting and pit stop,
And then, no stops seen,
Until our legs will be broken by an enemy bone-breaker
 
Here, so we live, and so we'll die,
We'll fertilize the mountain by ourselves, became its coal
In this unkind city as a slave or a rebel,
It's a nature cycle, worms will be eaten by an eagle,
 
A then, the worms the eagle. Everything is intertwined,
We'll embed halftones into their black and white movie,
Shades and colors, leviathan or behemoth,
Or mayor like a grey eminence, we have here a whole legion!
 
Everything is intertwined, Leo and Capricorn, with Virgo Taurus and Scorpio,
Saggitarius or Gemini's Acquarius.
Here's no esoterics, son, nobody goes with war on neighbors,
If the population has spermotoxicosis
 
Let, not understanding all my theories,
They mold conspirologists from us, saying our brains are dead,
But whose drug empire, you think, by city's arteries
Drives those containers with production waste,
Mined from ore under the mountain,
Sold over the hill3, while homes are in laboratories,
From its waste, by processing
They throw into the people the drug called 'Gor'
 

• 1. Annoy
• 2. Don't be glad of what you haven't yet achieved
• 3. Abroad

Just a writer

[Chorus]
The city dwellers don't care who's the captain taking control
God forbid give me woe from wit!
If authority just clowns around, fighting it is a waste of time.
Why must I go to the Kalashniy Row* then?
I don't need to fool myself for an electorate of sheep
A game with no rules - I'm outside of it
I have a head of full of fog and my calling to is get paper dirty
I'm all for myself and it won't f*ck with me!
 
[Verse 1]
I wasn't born to do great things
What am I warring with, f*ck, the leader or the dissident?
And how I stupidly found myself with this constant thing
In the middle of life in the forest within the twilight
I barely wear a cross for I am not Jesus
Who and to where will I ever lead? I'm lost myself.
They ask who have I become? What am I fighting for? Where's the way
Eat your fill, thanks to god, let me support you
Give me credit, don't get worked up and don't worry
Who sticks out? Don't teach me how to live! Little by little
Dolce Vita, Chic or Kitsch - it's all too much
Rich men: Givenchy, Jimmy- Jimmy Choo
Judging by their eyes, everyone is really cheered up
The jaw here and there, frozen gums
Honestly guys, I myself don't even know who I've become
I'm just a writer, my job is to write - not f*ck around!
 
[Chorus]
The city dwellers don't care who's the captain taking control
God forbid give me woe from wit!
If authority just clowns around, fighting it is a waste of time.
Why must I go to the Kalashniy Row* then?
I don't need to fool myself for an electorate of sheep
A game with no rules - I'm outside of it
I have a head of full of fog and my calling to is get paper dirty
I'm all for myself and it won't f*ck with me!
 
[Verse 2]
I won't start a fight with evil
All the rebels here are as doomed as Absalom
I'm all for good, but I write books and as for the rest:
Yes burn in the blue fire! I don't give a f'ck!
Hiding from my issues and where do I go to make trouble?
I'm the city with no rights here myself - good for me
I'm not a rich kid from here. I naturally see the bigotry of a despot.
Who has an honest offshore here?
Well, if you find a corner - don't shit where you live
Your conversations about the trumpets are f*cked up
I haven't kissed any b*tch's ass - my conscience is clear
The rest is society's problem - Listen, why'd you do that?
They already rubbed me about Olympus and shame
The party isn't a convent, take off your halo and cool off
We have a banquet while it's noisy, are the nymph's eyes empty?
But then again our nymphs are young, yours are like Windows 3
Doesn't f*ck around!
 
[Chorus]
The city dwellers don't care who's the captain taking control
God forbid give me woe from wit!
If authority just clowns around, fighting it is a waste of time.
Why must I go to the Kalashniy Row* then?
I don't need to fool myself for an electorate of sheep
A game with no rules - I'm outside of it
I have a head of full of fog and my calling to is get paper dirty
I'm all for myself and it won't f*ck with me!
The city dwellers don't care who's the captain taking control
God forbid give me woe from wit!
If authority just clowns around, fighting it is a waste of time.
Why must I go to the Kalashniy Row* then?
I don't need to fool myself for an electorate of sheep
A game with no rules - I'm outside of it
I have a head of full of fog and my calling to is get paper dirty
I'm all for myself and it won't f*ck with me!
 
[Outro]
Understand that it won't f*ck me up
What do you have? A strong world here? A politician?
Hello! I'm a writer. The role of the savior isn't mine.
Look how not even the grief gets to me.
Time to go home, this party's ruined - some drank too much and is vomiting
I come out onto the square, lights, but we're not in New York. Given that the car is roaring
I almost sit in a taxi, but I suddenly see her..
 

Russian Cockney

Speaking our Russian Cockney1
Without a dictionary, you'll die like the Etruscans...
 
Your neighbourhood is 'endz' or 'bits',
Panel girls are called 'skets',
And trust me, 'food' is not only about meals, you'll not buy it in Tesco and Sainsbury's.
Like 'lemon&cheese'2, an owner is 'landlord', if you rent an 'apartment',
Don't trust him: know that he's not your 'fam' or 'mate', and not all of your 'mandem'3 are 'bredren'...4
They wait for you here at nights, with 'screwfaces' under the hoods,
Basically, there're those who are more obnoxious, those who are 'on hype' and tear London to shreds,
You are probably a 'badman'5
If you say 'Wag1'6 instead of hi,
But you are a 'wasteman' posing as a local and thinking:
I can't wait to go back to Brighton and Plymouth,
It's unlikely that England will accept you if you don't know that a 'quid' is a pound, 1000 is a 'grand', a gun is a 'tool', a knife is a 'shank', that's right, 'innit'...
'Off ur face' or 'wasted' means drunk as fuck and 'tipsy' means drunk just a little,
The transport pass is called 'oyster card', fuck knows why, 'it's some next ting',
Cases in Cockney - to hell with them,
A chick here is a 'jezzy', a 'bird' or a 'gash',
She might be 'buff'7 or 'butterz'8: fucking awesome, puffed-up, ugly and everything in between,
Oi! If something's from the street, it's 'gully' and 'gutter', know, that we caught you, aesthete, when you babbled about dubstep and two-step not knowing that the district is called a 'council estate'9 – 'nutter'10!
Screwed up? They'll tell you 'fix up'!
'Nice one' means everything's fucking great,
To diss is to 'par', to show respect they say 'big up' and 'safe'
And there's a red 'rizla'11 for 'zoots'12
And the message for every dubstep tourist:
You're on the island, 'cuz'13, watch your back,
You may be a dangerous gangster in your neighbourhood,
But here, near Brixton and Plaistow, you're hipster!
 
Speaking our Russian Cockney
Without a dictionary, you'll die like the Etruscans...
 

• 1. Oxxximiron used to live in London. He explains some of local slang words in the song. I put them and other English words used in the original in quotation marks.
• 2. Some weed types have names like 'lemon haze' or 'blue cheese'
• 3. Mandem - friends/acquaintances
• 4. Bredren - brothers/best friends
• 5. Badman - a gangster
• 6. 'Wah gwan' means 'whats going on', taken from the carribean accent 'patois' and daily used as UK slang talk for hello, spelt as 'Wag1' on chat sites and MSN as it takes less time to type
• 7. Buff means 'good-looking'
• 8. Butters means 'ugly'
• 9. Council estate - is an area of a city in which there are council houses and apartments
• 10. Nutter is a crazy person.
• 11. Rizla is a brand of rolling paper
• 12. Zoot is another word for marihuana cannabis, a spliff weed or a joint
• 13. Cuz - a buddy, a mate

Bipolar Girl

The press is fucking with our minds again, the chills and jetlag
Shove the badge and the questions up your ass, Sherlock
We give a part of ourselves to rap, like Tosin does to djent,
And we rake in the cash, tears still fresh, the year is engraved on the grave stone
 
We're asking in vain: give us all more than shelter here
Like a wanderer really waits for a flickering light of an inn
We, who are sacrificing everything for the onlookers
Those, who having finished with the ring around our neck will throw it into the muzzle*
 
And what do we get in return? Man, what's in return?
That people's love is bitter bread - a joke on an evening show
When you're poor, you have great expectations from a grand paycheck, but
Where will you go, when the paycheck can't save you, like medicinal juices could?
 
'Oxx, what are you on?
You have everything which a little underground rapper could dream of
You've left the gutters, and instead of being happy with your successes
Here is another sob story. Look at how we live,
I don't think anybody around you lives like that,
Our alcohol is cheaper than a textbook.
So if you're wining, you're a wimp like Chandler.
 
This is bigger than you, more than
Your self-examination of a useless clown, man
Remember, we went side by side together for a hundred years
We followed the same road to the same dream
 
With God's help to the end, instead of disappearing
For a few more years, send that shit away
'Hey, wuss, you won't live forever
Get yourself together! Why are you such a wimp?'
 
Yeah, you're right, but it seems
You've jumped to conclusions, guys,
In a year and a half, I've lost myself.
My friends: two are dead, one is resuscitated
 
Each step I take is under a microscope
And real talk, if I make a tiny mistake, that's it
I waited for a year to give away the throne
The crown is heavy, I'm tired of fucking everyone
 
It's that age, when you start
And you grab everything out of thin air, you're aggressive to adults.
Remember? My home was a drifting island
And my only possessions were helium and air
 
Don't write - 'Oxx, let your hair grow long'
After three years of being in the press, I've gone bald
And I would love to leave, but I can't let my friends down
My conscience won't let me
 
From my oral area
Must emerge a new poem and be flow-plastid
Seem like a pop-artist, but still an MC
Big boss, CEO, that feeds his team
 
A kind son, down to earth
An Oxford graduate, but nobody gives a fuck
You, catcher in the rye, laugh while you're above the abyss
The motto on Crawley's arm says 'God Forgives'**
 
MC frienemies are circling
Dancing round my dead body
But I'm a live corpse, being strangled by my own flesh
If you stab me - I'll bust my gut
 
So keep flowing, you gypsy song
Don't know what I've become, used to be a nerdy kid,
But I'm not sad, I don't care,
Because my bipolar girl loves me...
 

Chitinous Carapace

People live in manors, waste their heritage, end up in stairwells
And people live together, but it's a sequence of mechanical actions
At first, people are such dreamers that consume with their eyes and wait in the night
But people reap sorrows, burn the pier after leaving and shrug their shoulders
People find something in words, go to therapists, and get dogs
People get acquainted again like nothing's wrong, they don't lose their minds
People believe in horoscopes and astrological signs, but everyone is replaceable — slots are the same
And the city is drowning in greenery, someone swims out, someone drowns — C'est la vie
 
And we never know what we've lost...
There's a whirpool ahead, I'm vulnerable, don't peel off my chitinous carapace
But who would touch your face now?
There's a whirpool ahead, don't spare me, peel off my chitinous carapace
 
People spill liqueur on a counter sitting in a bar, they drink it since
Not everyone takes well that nobody will ever tell them: wait a minute
And yes, everything complete and appropriate is much more appreciated here
And if something is shared — it's a bad call. All men can aim, they'll put their hands on it in a heartbeat
People suffer, choose 500 different outfits when they lose their faces
People die and that's it, there's a landlord, he evicts tenants...
People see signs and omens everywhere, but they're not sure where their fears and doubts are
And clouds hang around the sky, absolutely mute and totally indifferent
 
And we never know what we've lost...
There's a whirpool ahead, I'm vulnerable, don't peel off my chitinous carapace
But who would touch your face now?
There's a whirpool ahead, don't spare me, peel off my chitinous carapace
 

Not of This World

Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 
Son, you're not of this world, excess, like a pen leaking ink,
As if someone dug a crop out, or just cut off a link,
From a chain, where every one is exemplary (I piss on them!),
Every link with this world is going off tangentially.
 
As the cuts were stinging, I heated up the sand,
And whoever I meet now, a barrier stands,
And you're pretty much fine, but, rummaging inside you,
On goes the search for anyone a bit like you.
 
Where the mindless, the homeless, the shabby ones,
The smoked out Cauldfields and twitchy Durdens,
Anhedonia, and Jared Leto's omens,
We're born to amphetamine, nu-metal and Baphomet.
 
You're the type that can't believe the hype - we're Peter Pans,
We grow from days of foam, but we don't grow right,
Raving from a one track mind, the minibus leaves for a mini-home -
In his image, God makes man.
 
Chorus:
Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 
Books spread opinions, doubts come from within them,
And from doubt, laziness, and from there, oblivion.
Michel Houellebecq, de Lautréamont, even Necromonicon,
Again, this world's a target for payback.
 
DJs, tapes and decks - all that type.
Seems you're like bad wounds, infecting all life.
Of us, the city thinks the worst, one stab and then you're burst.
The truth is like a fungus - born from fights over this curse.
 
Where's Aldous fucking Huxley now? Don't you like this brave new world?
Then you're just a kid - back to the creche, get out!
Surrounded by defeats, and by failures, by cursed poets and those blessed with graphomania,
The knights of subculture, defenders of glass covers, warriors of lacquer, forgotten music lovers.
It's like this world hangs over a glass fucking panel, but I can see the light at the end of your sonic tunnel.
 
Chorus:
Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 
Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.