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Sometimes we wonder why the threshold between us and our neighbour to the east is still so high.
My own living contact with the past, however, makes it clear to me that everything the elderly carry round with them could not have been simply shaken off ostayni the passage of time. Nor can the next generation just break away from it. My own experience also reminds me how distant our eastern neighbour was during peacetime. After all, a very few have made the long journey to the country next door.
To many people, the old story was the only story there was about Russia. Your wakeup call service today stresxczenie Ninety-seven was almost a hundred. She and Irma had decided that they would refuse to turn one hundred. It would only make trouble. One lady, in the bottom apartment of the A staircase, had received an invitation to the health szczegoew on her birthday. Apparently stgeszczenie five-year-olds were called in for monitoring of their motor and psychological development, and when this lady turnedthe computer system thought she was a toddler.
Siiri thought the lady should have kept the appointment; she would have done, for the tests were fun.
You had to draw a triangle and walk along a straight line. Not that easy for someone of Black birds curved through my mind and it felt as if no one streszczemie me, no one or nothing: The machine of society hummed and ticked and Finland lakla as round and fat as a bomb.
Wzczegowe looked at it and nothing changed, and on Sundays it was so quiet that you could look out of the window and see the Sahara. To put it bluntly, you have expected my particular devotion all these years ostafni because I am three years younger. But until you receive it, it might perhaps be as well to discuss certain bad habits which are, as a matter of fact, not foreign to me, either.
They had plaits, red pompons, bad moods — all of them moulded and twisted by wire coathangers from the very start. They gouged the house full of passageways, they hollowed out the paper walls with silver christening-spoons. They disappeared between the stairs on the staircase, saying: Evidently he revelled in moving about, like a baby on the crawl, or a feisty youth. He was a man with no personal ties, with no one to patronise or distract him.
In response to one of these groans, Porki the factory owner said what they thought was almost blasphemy:. But Porki and the other bigwigs in the town grew bloated and obese, huffed and puffed, and yawned. Jussi had finished his rent-work for the week, so she had to drive out to the croft. The little sleigh-bells tinkled so prettily that the boys overcame their shyness ostanti came outside to marvel.
Vilppu could hardly claim to belong to the same species as this splendid creature. He had wonderful blue-black eyes, and a soft pink muzzle. The people in the parking lot of the S-Market made a fuss. The thief took fright when he found himself grasped by the scruff of the neck by a man the size of a baseball player.
It turned out to be a packet of pork chops. They were not on special offer. The shopkeeper just had time to think that lal,a the worst thing after snivelling when the thief started to snivel. Even his clothes were ugly. He let the thief go with a kick. We dreamed pale green spherical cloud dreams in wrought-iron beds and burnt our fumbling paws on the red-hot shade of the night light. We did not know. The rooms were always large and the big people were big and there was no sin.
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Now Bella and Rosa are skiing: There is something nervous about Tupsu Lindbergh. Not Tupperware all the time, but Tupperware is the collective description. The linden trees of the North Shore drooped their dusty leaves in a tired and melancholy way.
Even the new windows were already sticky and dusty. The flat was covered in thick, stiff plastic sheeting. The chairs, the books, the Tibetan tankas and the negro orchestra I had bought in Stockholm glimmered beneath the plastic ice like salvage from the Titanic.
The windows had been replaced while I had been in Korea. I unpacked the gifts from my suitcase. Lost in the sea of plastic, the little Korean objects looked shipwrecked and ridiculous. My temperature was rising; it had been troubling me for more than a week. I smiled and said something, not mentioning my temperature.
It was time to be a mother again, and a life-companion. It says in the paper that we humans will soon have to move away, leave the Earth because our planet has become overcrowded and almost uninhabitable, and space and the eternity of space are waiting for us and we have engineers of the highest class who will soon solve such small problems as still remain.
Only a chosen few are able to escape, and to do this they have to set off upwards into a coolness, and seek out a darkness and solitude where there will be no anxiety or feelings of guilt. The experience was perplexing. Both works seem to inhabit an internal world of sorrow and depression, a world where the function of poetry is to forge and show its readers a path out of the anxiety. In their silence — and even emptiness — both collections have two faces: They hated us too, though we were still only planning our final escape.
We would hide from its gaze in the forest or the cemetery where the gravestones were so close together that there was no room for the trees to grow.
We ostatbi why the freight train brought the village so many dead and so few living. It had a wicked soul. We knew it, but no one asked us. Death was within us; it was alive. Asking would have been too dangerous…. We blew out the candles laid at the graves of suicide victims.
We worshipped them in the dark and no new candles were ever brought to their graves.
The parents of those who died so young drove south. They were looking for stations with real waiting rooms and staff that made announcements. And everything could start over. Use quotes when searching for phrases, for example “search phrase”. Anyone wishing to make use of material published on this website should apply to the Editors. For more than 20 years journalist Leena Liukkonen has been thoroughly involved with Russian culture, commerce, language and psyche.
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Extract from the novel Kello 4. When time loses its meaning, real fear strikes like an iron glove. In response to one of these groans, Porki the factory owner said what they thought was almost blasphemy: His subjects are mostly petty criminals and losers, but his crisp language is always a winner.
The website of a Finnish family magazine in discussed this: