December 11
Tonight in my flashback dreams not of lions was dreaming I but of
...night trains and unloyal friends...
In my wake hours, till noon I, poetically speaking, was converting swords into plowshares, which, practically, looked like one more avid peasant horsing around the baling wire (that served the core string in the barber-wire coils left behind by the pulled out Red Army troops) by the CPSU District Committee Block grounds.
I was not the first in the undertaking, folks had been collecting the wire for at least a couple of weeks. However, if you're not particularly interested in the barbs you can still find a considerable amount of scrap wire there.
(...look out though! The damn thing is pricky!..)
I stripped a length of bale wire free of barbs and coiled it into a few sizable balls to be taken to our Site.
After lunch I went out and bought a big lamp-shade of matte glass (30 monets) from the Department Store. Then till dark I was consorting the shade with the gas torch made yesterday.
Right now the burning gas hisses inside the bellshaped shade fixed up the bookcase. However, the light from this clapped up gassier is too flickery that's why I opted for writing the today's entry under the candle.
When a candle is burnt up we scrape together the remnants of its molten paraffin to mold them into a new—much smaller—candle. Shrinking reproduction.
Yoga. Supper. A pencil game with Sahtik and Roozahna.
Now the mother-in-law is preparing the stuff for baking bread. It's high time for me to get away from the table and go out after water.
Good night to the wide world and all of its diverse inhabitants.
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