i had a plan but plans change

(photos represent the romantic first impressions, this romantiscism proves to fade in and out. I find myself disheartened and beat down by the people here and yet intrigued, perpetually seeking their softness)


I am safe and sound in Brillo padded arms of mother russia
Not sure where to begin
What to say
There is so much
I feel I know so little to comment
histories, relations, social customs, language barriers
I am at a loss for reportage
I will give you glimpses
small tailor made insights
I am totally overwhelmed and clueless in this vast culture
steeped in trauma, victory, bloodshed, movements, upheaval
(sounds like a lot of places as I reread)
the energy is thick and harsh and sassy
Ice queens abound
the women are svelte and sexy in a category unto themselves
"the russian woman"
fierce

there are tokens of culture from the soviet days
but the opening to capitalism oozes and seeps,
it is fastidious
it abounds and feels cheep
usurping the old
disregarding past for plastic present
everybody has a right to be able buy endlessly I suppose
and maybe this history is too dark to pay the homage without some cheap distraction.

ghosts seem to haunt my island
an old military island
the strongest fort in the world
for a period
opened to lay citizens in the early 90's
mostly sailors, sailor families and now newcomers
imagine the secret garden,
meets abandoned soviet military buildings,
general apocalypse
meets new life.
mosquitoes flourish
beer is liquid culture
pigeons flourish
people mosey
there is a sense of quiet
a lack of buoyancy
it is serious
it is thick
memory is present
feelings of past
anxieties of future
harsh realities
steadfast traditions
and bum-rushing newness encircle this place.