Twenty-Fourth Post

Forget and forgive.
I... am broken.
Was broken.
Repaired? This may be so.

I am hoping that you can forgive me.
I am punished. I bled for this.

I... he... myself, but another, you see?

More, in time. I am still healing.

My head is still hurting.

-Vlad

Twenty-Third Post / The Real World

It's strange that I should, over Spring Break, feel more like an adult than during a period of academic activity. I am experiencing the classic American 9-to-5 (though the 5 seems to be rather flexible, and sometimes the 9 when the 5 really gives way), and something like a working-man's home-life.

Work with my mentor is going well. We are enjoying ourselves and breaking ground, though our ethics differ on a few points. I cannot explain or elaborate because of the sensitivity of the project's details. But the home-life : last Thursday night found me and Alfonzo alone in the suite. What followed was highly unexpected; rather than threats of violence, outright violence or extreme introversion, I was met with a sort of casual acceptance.

I walked into the suite and found him watching television and drinking wine. He offered me a spot on the couch and polished off his already opened bottle of wine before offering me a new one. I accepted, and we spent the night as two long-lost Russian brothers might have; singing, swaying, and drinking.

The last time I was so drunk was when I was 8-years-old. As long as I have been drinking, Thursday was the first time my memory has drowned. Only patches of the night's late hours have stayed with me, but I managed to wake up in time to get back to work the next day.

I'd like to know where I can get more of that wine.

-Vlad

Twenty-Second Post / Home Can Wait

My plan had been to go home for Spring Break. My father seems to find my presence comforting, more so than that of my younger brother or older sister. Babushka would tell me, when I was younger, that I looked like my father shrunk up in water. While I've appreciated my advantage in his eyes, I have tried to be a good son to him and to exceed his expectations of me. I have been presented with a most promising opportunity, but I would have to stay in St. Louis for Spring Break to fulfill it. And though my father would appreciate my company, I'd like to think that this is the sort of decision he would make; my mother once mentioned that he delayed their engagement by three years when he was offered a position under Andropov, and I feel, also, that there are times when one's family must rest aside a greater goal.

We are going to smooth out the edges of the Abili-Compound, hopefully producing something that will meet FDA approval. Doing this inside of a week seems ambitious, but Donald (he insists that I call him Donald) has very high hopes for me. He's been told I have a flare for rapid computation.

I realize that my promise was to post here more often, but it seems like a truer calling has found me. If my family can wait, the blog can wait. There's work to be done.

-Vlad

Twenty-First Post / Muses

Moon afreeze and Sun afire,
Shall we shake or else perspire?
The fickle Wind and silent Earth
Won't inform morrow's attire.

They say it changes with the breeze,
And Twain said to wait fifteen,
But the waiting game is not my scene.
So, will I sweat or will I sneeze?


There are many changes afoot in modern science. Humans have built all that they can think of, and now turn to self-renovation. I, myself, was the unsuspecting beneficiary of that renovation, where before I counted myself as merely lucky. It seems that what happened in Kansas was only partially an accident.

If you had told me, in September, that there were a number of senior faculty members with an interest in me, I would not have been surprised. I was aware of the attention my work was attracting, and I could feel the subtle tug from each of the science departments on campus. Lacking the words to comfortably stray from numbers, I stayed in the physics laboratory. Many of the interested faculty were disappointed, but one resourceful fellow was not to be discouraged.

I was treated, through a series of dinner conversations and bribes to Bon Appetí­t workers, to a substance which stimulated a reorganization of my brain. The weeks passed and my brain grew and folded into itself, yet I knew nothing of it; self-consciousness, it seems, is a thing that can endure significant undermining. My inarticulate self was perfectly cohesive, and would not adapt to my brain's improved functions. And then came Alfonzo...

Alfonzo was not paid off, or informed of my state in any way. He knew no better than I did what would result from his attack and my consequent concussion. My identity blurred and lost cohesion, and the newer, better Vladimir leaked through the cracks. As I recovered, my new identity seeped down into the rearranged folds and embraced them. I awoke, a fully-functional improved person.

The bio-medical engineering school has been the most vehement in pursuing me, and I have only just learned the lengths to which they were willing to go. I have no allegiance to the physics department, and I owe my new skills to BME, so I have switched my primary major. I will be working on the very project that brought me about; the development of physically and mentally-enhancing compounds. We are building the AbiliBurger and so, rebuilding mankind.


The stomach rumbles
But the mind is starving.
Feed them both.

-Vlad

Twentieth Post / Unimpressive Yields

I have got a lot of work to do if I want to live up to my blogging goal for this semester, but I have so much work to do elsewhere...

I am finding that the most remarkable feature of literature studies is its endlessness. The finality of mathematics has always been a comfort to me. As far as concrete calculations are concerned, one should eventually come to an answer beyond which you cannot go. There are fundamentals, truths that, once proven, cannot be denied except through ever-more rigorous calculations.

The best word I have for the study of literature is "bullshit," but this word does not capture my feelings accurately. The reasonable possibilities for interpretation have a finite limit, but that limit is often far above the limits of human patience and perseverance. What's especially interesting is that this vaulted ceiling of possibility is, itself, mirrored; you have the nearly infinite intentions of the author, who is working within a space that has few true resctrictions, and then you have the less permissive but still vast space for coming to understand, not only the author's first intentions, but any unconscious schema that have found there way into the text.

Literary analysis, when veiwed as a sort of "black box", can be used to produce any quasi-logical conclusion you want. As long as you avoid putting words into the mouths of sentient beings (ie. the author), nearly anything goes. I could not, for instance, say that "Cash" by Johnny Cash expresses the author's love for homosexual men, while advocating a re-initiation of the Holocaust of the Jews. I could, however, suggest that Marlowe in "Heart Of Darkness" could be reinterpreted in the modern era as a chronic public masturbator, trying to compensate for his impotence through sexual overexpression and denying the sexual nature of his obsession with Kurtz.

The sheer power of it. It's intoxicating.

That is all, for now.

-Vlad

Nineteenth Post / While Away

I have returned to the Suite after a very long delay. It seems that much has happened here, in the Suite itself rather than in its online iteration. But before I get to that, allow me to explain what has kept me so long.

My home is far less stable place than America. For all the fear your government has instilled in you, not a terrible amount of what happens here can be considered true "instability". On my side of the world, we have the Soviet aftermath, we have Winter as you will never know it, and we have the fallout from American foreign policy. You may have heard about the explosion of a gas pipeline between Russia and Georgia. You may even have heard the accusations made by certain radical groups, claiming that the explosion was organized by Russia herself. Much of the weight of these accusations fell on my father's head. It has been a difficult week for my family, and I would not have left them to suffer it alone.


And so I returned late last night, spending most of my day begging the forgiveness of my professors and mentors. I assured them that I am fully capable of making up any work I missed, and I look forward to impressing them with my efforts.

But, if I may indulge in the practice of gossip, what on Earth has happened to my dear suitemates. Alan has sunk, and is sinking further, into stagnancy and depression. Alfonzo has, seemingly, walked as far along the mobius strip of his idiosyncracies as could be tolerated, and now finds that he is his own opposite; happy without reason, devoid of rage, and eager to interact with others. Chaz is not as skewed as the other two, but he is showing a previously unseen affection for his textbooks. I wonder what courses he is taking.

When I made my way back to the Suite this afternoon, I found Alfonzo watching TV in the common room. He said "Hey, Vlad. Welcome back," and I'm sure I looked as perplexed as he did. Soon after, Alan opened his door (a door, I must point out, which was hardly known to close last semester) to welcome me back. What little room I saw, through the open slice of the door, was filthy, piled high with boxes, paper, clothing, and some sort of enormous red bag. Though he seemed truly glad to see me back--this is something for which I much admire Alan; his sincerity--I can see that there is a primal spark, a light from within, that has dimmed since I last saw him. Hearing the commotion, Chaz came out and recieved me with a very strong embrace. "Allo, Comrade. How is the Motherland, da?" he said; Chaz, much of the time, does not know enough to be truly offensive, so I accept his jokes with their intended humor intact.

Chaz and Alan returned to their rooms to study, and I retired to the couch to watch TV with Alfonzo. He watched me with a certain tension apparent in his shoulders and eyebrows. I asked him how his time off was, and he winced, seeming to chew on his words before saying, "Good." My further questions produced much the same result. I promise that I will someday understand Alfonzo. For now, I'm glad he has stopped trying to live in the shopping mall.

I hope that my new curriculum will open the veins of my creativity, so that I may better play a role on the blog. I regret that I posted so little last semester, and aim, tenetively, to post thirty times before the semester's end.

-Vlad

Eighteenth Post / Rocket-man

I have finished. I have finished reading a list of books; a task claimed impossible by one professor, and sarcastically deemed "ambitious" by another. As much as Washington University is able to prepare me for my English major and Writing minor, it has. The rest, of course, has yet to unfold. My one weakness, which I'm told will take time to repair, is symbolism. So, for the purposes of this post, I have asked for Alan's help. He has given me a song : "Rocketman" by Elton John.

In the morning, I will leave for home. I have already packed my bags and they are standing by the door, waiting for their orders. My flight will last 13 hours, with a connection in New York. There is something very calming, to me, about air travel. There are some, I understand, who have a great fear of it; they think of all the ways it can go wrong, and bite their nails. It's strange, perhaps, that I should take comfort in precisely that which worries so many.

What I know, and what I am comforted by, is the simplicity of the risk involved. If something goes wrong, death is almost certain. Perhaps this is a Russian outlook, but I am happier standing on a line between life and certain death than standing on a line between two greater unknowns. Perhaps I am just strange.

All that remains for me, in St. Louis, are my suitemates. Though Alan is studying for his Russian exam, my hope is that we can gather for at least a short while. I'm not sure why I want this; I have a latent expectation that, somehow, if I gather those I am closest to together, we may summon the spirit of the good times gone by.

I am borrowing Alan's car, for the time being, and going in search of Alfonzo.

Please, wish me luck.

-Vlad

Seventeenth Post / Going Home

I was sitting on the third floor of the library, brushing up on my Tolstoy and watching today's magnificent snowfall, when I realized that I must return home this Winter. Upon tasting the opportunities at my command, I quickly lost sight of that which has always been my inspiration.

I will redouble my efforts and catch the first plane out on the 23rd.

Snow is such a beautiful thing, yes? Had I a mind for it, I'd learn every language in the world just so I could wax poetic about snow.

-Vlad

Sixteenth Post / Parting Waters

Today, class registration day, marks the beginning of a new era in my education. I have spent the last weeks exploring the boundaries of my new mental prowess, but simply knowing my capacity is insufficient; I must hone my new abilities and become ever wiser.

My plan had been to triple major in the engineering school, though I had not settled on which majors I wanted to pursue. My new plan is to obtain only two majors from the engineering school; the extra time will allow me to pursue my English major and Writing minor (would I could major in writing.... alas, Wash U does not deliver).

There is a hard road ahead of me, as I am still not well-versed in non-Russian literary traditions. I will spend the next eight weeks attempting to read and comprehend the full spectrum of American high school and early college literature, so that I may approach my classes, next Spring, as any well-read American might.

The books beckon! I must be off!

-Vlad

Fifteenth Post / Sleeping Week

My apologies; this will be a very brief post.

Alan, the best way to utilize Wash U's armchairs is to put two of them together, like so :

As those who frequent the library should know, there is a small lounge at the bottom of the main stairwell. I, myself, neither have the time nor the desire to sleep during the day, but I know that many seek out this place for a brief or quite extended nap.

I hope to have more stories for you by the end of this weekend.

-Vladimir

Fourteenth Post / A Linguistic Triumph

Hello, all.

I have, at long last, completed the assignments that were missed while Charles and I were away on our brief, involuntary sabbatical; as a nod to his friendship and assistance, I have spent the last 36 hours completing his assignments. A simple task, to be sure; the first 24 hours were dedicated to the intense study of his speech and writing mannerisms, so that I might better disguise my work as his.

Worry not, you elite few who comprise our readership. I will no longer avoid the question which is undoubtedly on your mind; what happened to you, Vlad?

The truth is... I don't know. There is a line of causality which leads up to my concussion, at which point even science and imagination together fail to provide an explanation. The practical answer is this: my concussion has widened my propensity for many kinds of thought. Now, I know that the idea of having an enormous active vocabulary literally pounded into me is preposterous; language is too arbitrary a construct to be assembled by a chance scramble. However, the conduits for language processing are not as arbitrary. My best guess is that the language centers of my brain were, previously, slightly amiss. By luck (and when I say 'luck' here, know that I mean some of the most improbable odds you are likely to ever encounter in life without death resulting immediately thereafter), things got "knocked" into a more optimal location for language processing.

"But, Vlad," you must be thinking, "where did the words come from?" Well, I'll tell you.

After a few days rest on Marjorie's farm (I wish I could have stayed. It might have been my Walden), we set out on foot with a map and high spirits. We crossed into Missouri on the first day, and we slept at a bus stop. A small storm overnight was enough to encourage us to find better shelter, so, the following night, we took refuge in a public library. The idea was Charles', who had little interest in libraries as a scholar, but knew that vagabonds and vagrants often take take refuge within.
By day, we traveled by hitch when we could, and by foot when we had to. I marked every public library between Kansas City and St. Louis on our map, and, whenever possible, we tried to find ourselves in one of those cities by the end of the day. By night, I would retire to a nook of the facility with a stack of essential reading; I started humbly, and moved my way up to more challenging works (let me tell you, someone has played a very cruel trick on English-speakers. The translated Tolstoy is... well, let us just say that many things are lost in the translation. Compared to the original Russian, the translation reads very much like the Seuss books I began with). I purchased a small dictionary, and Charles and I spent our time on foot learning new words; I remembered that he had expressed some dismay at the size of his vocabulary, some weeks ago.

I am sorry, but I must cut short the account of our travels so I, myself, may travel. I have many people to see who I have not seen in nearly three weeks. I will return to this, or Charles will pick up where I am leaving off.

-Vladimir

Thirteenth Post / Costume Week

Halloween is not much celebrated in Russia. Is foreign idea, brought to Russia in nineties. Many in Moscow try to ban Halloween, and I am understanding why; Russia is cold, with many ghosts and demons all the time. Halloween is invitation to evil, but Russia is having enough already, so why ask more?

Now I am in America, I am understanding Halloween more. Is not day of evil; is day of parties and costumes. Still, Russia is not needing Halloween; in Russia, every day is Halloween without costumes. Why must we dress for drinking?

I am finding, more and more, American concept "fun". Suitemate Chaz says doing for "fun" is also doing for "hell of it". I am trying to do things for hell of them, so I will be dressing this year.


Be meeting Cosmonaut Vladimir. Good to meet you.

-Vlad

Twelfth Post / "What? No Theme" Week

I am reading what my suitemates write of the lockout. Is funny, da?

I tell you what happened.

Alarm goes, outside, inside, door is locked, Chaz goes... then I am remembering where my keys are; in lost pants, left behind some morning. For me, "walk of shame" is not shameful; much pride taken when I walk in boxer shorts.

Suitemate Als are saying to me "Go! Get pants!" and I am saying "No, is too dangerous."
They are not knowing the perils of women; Hell is furry woman scorned, da? (I am not knowing why she must be furry, but I am not knowing many American idioms)

So I go in search. Katy's room, I am knocking and she is answering and she is angry. I tell her to give me pants, and she is closing door but I put my foot out and push door open.

She is yelling, "You have not called. You said was not one-night stand!" I tell her no lies; we were not standing. I find pants where I left them, under couch cushion, and I leave, but keys are not there.

I am thinking, where have keys gone? Where are they hiding from me? I make calls, Sandra, Elizabeth, Cassie, Arabelle, Julie, Sarah, Rachel, Katy (I am calling by accident. She does not find funny), Dana... many have pants, but none are having keys.

So I call Denise. I have not told you about Denise--She is not understanding what to do in bed, wanting to lead and not to follow; to dominate, is word. I call Denise.

"Denise, you have pants?"
"Vlad, what do you want?"
"Denise, keys in pants? Are you having my pants?"
"Oh Vladimir, I have keys, but I will not give to you; not without price."

We meet at Suite 3100, she brings keys, we go inside. Music plays from Alfonzo's room, and so she closes door; I think nothing of this.

What Denise does is no way for man to be, but sometimes sacrifice is made for friends. To open room, I was tied to bed and made to feel like woman; never is man so without control.

When tired, she is leaving me tied to bed. I sleep, tired and beaten.

I am waking at six of morning, and I am untying self for half-hour. I dress and go to class, finding Alfonzo outside. Denise must have locked door on way out. All was for not, da?

No. I am not liking Denise, but I give thought to things she likes. I keep her rope and blindfold, and I will be using them. So much there is to be learning.

-Vlad

Eleventh Post

Today I am enjoying. Is 25 degrees, sky full of balls, sun is warm, leaves are falling. Is raining in Moscow, high of 11 degrees, low of 8 degrees. Some in Russia like the weather; I am not stupid. Russian weather is shit.

I am thinking I am too hard on Saint Louis. My Washington University is not much like Saint Louis, and I am finding this. I am leaving, more, and going elsewhere. I go to bar, or to nightclub; I meet nice girls. They think a Russian is cute; they are not minding my English. I am not always feeling so stupid, da? Is more to communicate than to speak, I am thinking.

-Vlad

Tenth Post / Video Game Week

Drinking suitemate Chaz, what we are saying in Russia is "Why drink water if vodka makes warm?"

Da. So, games week. I am not so much playing the games when I was child. American childs play too many games, and are not able to think.

There is Russian game you may have heard of. Game is not very fun, but neither is life, da? Is game that needs think. Is Tetris.



American games have round things and shiny things and things of many colors move while you are dancing or pressing X. Tetris is not American game. Tetris has no round things; old Tetris was not having colors.

I find movie with Tetris block made of boxes, and I show it to you, da?


You are clicking picture, da?

-Vlad

Ninth Post / Home And Away Week

Of the things I am missing, and of the things I am liking, I cannot say much. I am not like suitemates Chaz, Alan and Alfonzo; they are coming from other parts of America, so changes are small. I am coming from other side of ocean. What is same between Russia and America? Only that I have lived in both.

What I am missing most about my home is my home, is place that I come from, is place that I know. At home, I am knowing how to talk, how to act, how to eat, how to find women. Here, I am always hearing that I have done wrong.

I miss everything most. Land of my mother and father, land that I know.


About St. Louis? I am liking that women who sell for sex are picked up by police; is too cold for small clothings. I hope they are taken somewhere warm.

-Vlad

Eighth Post

I am lately thinking.... I am always thinking, but.... I am lately thinking I maybe do not like living in America. I am also thinking that I am not liking Saint Louis. I have travelled to New York and Washington. Washington was not to my liking, but I am understanding that sometimes things must be ugly when they serve a different purpose. It is not job of politicials to look good, or to make their city look good. New York is very large. It is large enough to contain many small things inside of it; there are places in America which are not large enough to contain anything but themselves. New York is New York, but it is also Wall Street, Broadway, Harlem. The small makes the large and the large makes way for the small. This is not same in Saint Louis.

Washington University wants to be a large place, but it cannot be. I can eat at 11 restaurants on campus, but I am never forgetting that I am here. In my room, I am still not forgetting that I am here. I am wanting to find something small, outside of Washington University, like good restaurant or bar. I am wanting to be part of small thing while I am part of big thing Wash U, but I do not want to be part of both at same time. Da? You understand?

Sex is this thing. Sex is small, very few people, and is not part of anything larger. Sex is not attached to college, or any other things. Still, I am feeling Wash U is not place for sex. I am going outside tonight to find sex. I am hoping that this is what I am looking for.

I will fully report.

-Vlad

Seventh Post / Favorite Movie Week

I am giving to you my favorite American movie. I do this because my favorite Russian movie, Солярис (Solaris) is maybe too difficult for to understand. There was American remake, I think. I have not seen it.

Favorite American Movie : Léon - The Professional

This movie reminds me of how my mother and father met. My father was mercenary, working for KGB. My mother was daughter of political enemy. You might say they met "on-the-job".



Yes, so, this is my favorite American movie. There is action, there is humor. It is good. You will enjoy sometime, yes?

-Vlad

Sixth Post / Webcomics Week

Many American web-comics are strange to me. Joking is not very Russian, and many phrases are unknown to me. I know short web-comic in my language, which we will call Stalin vs. Hitler. To me, it is good.


He is saying "At last we meet, Adolf".

Enjoy. Much pleasure to you all.

-Vlad

Fifth Post

I am, sometimes, feeling left out by peers. Not as bad as some; friday and saturday nights hold many pleasures. But, when I am waking on saturday and sunday morning, I do not know where everyone has gone. I go to library, only asian students. I go to lab, I am all alone.

I ask about this, and suitemate Alfonzo tells me there is big party every saturday and sunday mornings. He tells me he is surprised I am not invited. Just when I think I am getting hang of America, I find I am only hung.

Satellite is nearly ready, after two weeks; I am wishing to work faster, but America is nation of many coffee-breaks, yes? Dr. Kingsbury says might name satellite "Vladnik," and I am not against this. Small Vlad, out in space. Pitch, yaw, roll, sweet Vladnik.

-Vlad

Fourth Post

There is American Pop song called "Mambo #5". Singer names his female friends and speaks slyly of things they do together. Sometimes, I am thinking, my life is like "Mambo #5", you know?

I take four classes this term; I work with Dr. Schroeder in robotics laboratory, Dr. Kingsbury in rockets laboratory, I research calculus of multiple variables, I study women. Is sometimes like five classes, because "Women's Studies" takes time in and out of class. Something like internship in "Women's Studies", da?

I am glad that my friend, Alan, is learning Russian as I am learning more English. Worse than isolation is feeling that none care for where I come from. I love Russia, but I am knowing that better education comes from United States. I will learn, then return to my home and hope my children can learn in Russia. Russia, she is not doomed, even with some that think she is. She was once great country, and she will be again.

For my Ana, I will make Russia great.

-Vlad

Third Post

I am told by Alfonzo, angry suitemate, that I must continue to write here. I am told that I should write about Lily. I am finding this hard, as I am sitting next to Lily. I am wanting to tell internet about snoring and loud giggle, as well as much too small clothing. I am thinking I may upset Lily by saying these things. She is not looking, but I am feeling guilt. I enjoy soft Lily, though is hard to share bed. Maybe she gets different meal plan?

I will stop now. I cannot see Lily sad. We will delete, yes?

-Vlad

Second Post

Good bye mother Russia. You keep my spirit warm, and I drink much when I am with you. I will return to the american university to become surgeon. One day you will be proud to welcome Vlad back, yes? When I am grown, many bone will be set in my hand.

Pride for you. Courage for me.

-Vlad

First Post

I am told by Chaz, enthusiastic roommate, to blog here. I am not much blogging in english before. Bears with me? (Not sure of this expression. Bears are common in America?)

My mind is here for taking. Much pleasure to you.

-Vlad